


Outliers and Errors in Observation

by SquirrellyThief



Series: Short End [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Some OCs thrown into the mix, Some character and world study stuff, short story collection, very dialogue heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-26 12:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15663063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquirrellyThief/pseuds/SquirrellyThief
Summary: [Originally titled The Connor Collection. Takes place in the gap between Chapter 7 and the epilogue of Short End]Connor adjusts to life among humans and life as a deviant in general. Building relationships, looking for advice, narrowly avoiding a federal investigation into his role in the revolution.It's an interesting few months.





	1. Under Lock and Keycode

**_VIDEO TIMESTAMP: 03/30/2034. 1:06 PM_ **

_Two cars park on the curb on a one-way street lined on both sides with residential homes. Many of the houses have overgrown lawns and rundown cars parked in front of them. The camera exits the trailing car. It circles forward to meet with the occupants of the lead car; Lieutenant Valenti and Detective Miles._

_Valenti issues concise instructions to her team. A simple sweep of the place; eyes open for children’s things, signs of violence. Standard fare._

_They break, the camera lingers on the sidewalk as Valenti and Miles approach the door._

_454 shined on the side of a leaning black mailbox. The house is a squat thing; two stories on an uneven foundation. Boxy and square. The front face barren and flat. Large pieces of particle board cover the lower windows. The white paint on the siding peels around the corners. The bottom third of the siding is stained a dingy grey-green. The yard is mostly trampled down to dirt, overgrown around the edges of the house. The front step sags and groans under the weight of the officers._

_“Let’s just hope,” A voice adjacent to the camera, Lucas, says, “That we don’t get stabbed by the end of this.”_

_Gavin’s voice replies, “Amen to that, brother.”_

_Valenti and Miles open the door. Unlocked and loose on its hinges. A red sign posted on the door says “NO TRESPASSING. Condemned by the City of Detroit.”_

_Beyond the door a single wide room opens up. The room is empty save for litter and dirt scattered around the floor. Daylight seeps in through the cracks between the boards and tops of the windows catching on motes of dust. Visibility in the dim light is serviceable. Lucas and Lieutenant Valenti pull out their flashlights anyway._

_With a signal, Valenti gets them to split up. She and Miles linger downstairs, disappearing through a doorway to the kitchen. The camera follows Lucas up a dubious staircase with sharp turn._

_Gavin: “The fuck is that smell? Goddamn squatters.”_

_There’s a long narrow hallway lit by a window that isn’t boarded up at the end. Doors line the walls, some open, some barely hanging on. Lucas alternates with the camera knocking in those doors and sweeping the rooms beyond. Three bedrooms and a half bath. Devoid of items of interest._

_The camera starts to head down the hall back toward the stairs. when Lucas’s voice hisses. “Gav.”_

_The camera turns around. Lucas is pointing up with a flashlight. In the ceiling is dark rectangle a string hanging down. The camera approaches. Gavin’s voice says: “I got it. Spot me.”_

_Lucas nods. A count of three and he pulls down the ladder. Gavin’s hand reaches out to catch it just before it slams down on the floor. The camera looks up, following the line of a flashlight. Rafters and dark shadows are visible, no sound or movement is picked up._

_Lucas stays at the bottom of the stairs holding the ladder. The camera travels slowly up._

_At the top, the camera sees a cramped attic space complete with exposed insulation. Boards are set on the ground to act as a makeshift floor. An irregular shadow hovers on the left edge of the screen. The camera pans right._

_An air mattress sits against a wall. An incense burner surrounded by ashes. Paper coffee cups. A cheap, plastic-cased tool set. Dark stains dripped across the floor. The camera stops._

_Six shapes lined up against the far wall. Children of varying heights and ages seated upright. The one farthest to the left a girl with months of decay. The one to the far right freshly dead; bruises around the nose, mouth, and eyes indicative of suffocation. All the bodies were wrapped tightly in blankets from the waist down. Their arms rest palm up at their sides, there are thin red marks along the wrists, clearly visible on those with fairer skin._

_“Oh shit.” Gavin’s voice whispers._

_The camera turns back, to the left of the stairs, shining a light on the shadow._

_An android rests against a stud. Small. A YK-500. The skin removed. Chin and lower jaw plates missing to show the black skeleton underneath. Its wrists are secured to the stud over its head by zip ties. The lower half of the android is disassembled, the plates gone from the Thirium pump down. Tubing lies in blue and grey swirls around black skeletal legs folded up to the point of physical impossibility._

_The camera inches closer. “What the fuck-” the stairs creak._

_The android’s eyes open, solid spheres of dark blue with lenses shining teal in the light. The eyes flicker rapidly from side to side, moving of their own accord not focusing on anything in particular. The head tips in the direction of the camera, cocked harshly to the right._

_“Mom?” the voice modulator on the android is nonfunctional. The sound that comes out of the speakers is monotone and metallic, ringing hollow through an immobile mouth._

_The camera freezes in place._

_Lucas’s voice calls: “Gav? Someone up there?”_

_The android continues. “Did you bring- mom? Are you still there? Mom, don’t leave me again!”_

_Breathing near the camera quickens._

_“Don’t you miss me? Do you still love me?” The voice glitches out, stuck on that one question. It repeats over and over growing more garbled with every pass. The android lurches forward, arms twisting backward on the zip ties. Thirium splatters on the floor._

_The camera moves backward. There’s a loud snapping sound, and then a blur of motion and blackness for several seconds. Lucas’s voice, “Gavin! Jesus! Holy- Gav, you okay.”_

_Gavin groans. The camera refocuses on dirty floorboards lit by sunlight. Bright red blood drips near a hand pushing the camera upright again. Another groan._

_Footsteps. Valenti and Miles at the top of the stairs, looks of shock and horror on their faces._

_“Detective Reed?” Valenti jogs closer and kneels down._

_“I’m alright,” Gavin croaks. “There’s an- an android in the attic. The kids too.”_

_“What?” Valenti stands and disappears out of the shot. Miles follows after her._

_The camera gets up, pitching from side to side. A pained noise. Lucas says, “Maybe you should go downstairs, Gav.” To which Gavin replies, “No.” And goes back up the ladder, one hand bracing against the side and hauling himself up._

_Valenti radios in that the kids have been found._

_Miles comments on the defunct android._

_Everyone talks over each other as Gavin tries to explain that it was still animated when he got up there. Lucas attempts to confirm that he heard a voice._

_“It doesn’t matter now.” Valenti says and all the men stop arguing. “We’re gonna section off the crime scene and wait for some back-up. Kane, please take your partner to the hospital.”_

_“I’m fine.” Gavin argues._

_“Well it’s a good thing I didn’t ask you. Get gone, boys.”_

_The camera leaves the attic, shakily climbing down behind Lucas. There’s a stumble on the way down the stairs and Lucas ends up off-screen until they reach his car. Gavin lets out a sharp sound as he’s dropped unceremoniously in the passenger seat._

_Ten feet from the curb Gavin starts hyperventilating. Lucas pulls over. Before the car has even stopped fully the passenger door opens and Gavin starts retching blood and bile mostly out onto the street. His aim is poor._

_Once the car’s stopped, Lucas’s voice is picked up by the microphone, “Fuck- Gav. Hey. You’re alright. Hold still. Let me loosen-” Everything jostles forward. A hand covers the camera. The feed ends._

* * *

 

**MAY 03, 2039. 13:02:36**

Connor rewound the video to the android and paused it right before it tried to get to Gavin; the eyes focused in the general direction of the camera, arms twisting as it strained against the ties, mangled and disassembled from the waist down. The damage patterns consistent with those of the last child in the row.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

Something in him spun, no longer attached to a belt or adjoining gear, just free to spin on its axle until it unthreaded itself and flew clean off. It rattled everything around it. He blinked a few times, resetting individual protocols with each; clue archive, visual data processor, fight response, self-preservation response.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR. TERMINAL ERROR.

RESETTING PROTOCOL...

PROTOCOL RESET.

He disconnected from the camera’s feed.

It explained enough on a single watch anyway. Gavin’s previously dislocated shoulder, the inconsistencies of the story he told about it, the strange question he’d asked Connor to repeat that morning.

After that bizarre encounter, Connor had resolved to look into that unexplained case file number Gavin was using as his wifi password. He’d considered doing so months ago, after a quick search of the archive had rendered a “ _File not Found_ ” message, but his attention had quickly been called elsewhere for the whole of April. But Gavin’s behavior lately left him little choice. If he was going to get anywhere, be of any use or help to the man, he had to know what he was up against.

It was a leap, Connor would admit, to associate something as arbitrary as a case number a person wanted to remember with some deeply held trauma, but it was all he had to work with. Hank’s password got him in. Connor had his own now, but it was rejected as this file didn’t fall under his given parameters of “Connor’s Cases”, “Hank’s Cases” or “Cold Cases.”

Inside the locker had been a single box at the center of the shelf. One of those old, thick cardboard filing boxes; water stained and faded at the corners. The old label had been redacted in black Sharpie and nothing had been written to replace it. Inside had been two data tablets, a standard issue body cam, a folded sheet of notebook paper held closed with a paperclip, and a newspaper. Nothing else.

He’d watched the video first.

The newspaper had been from April 2nd 2034. Local news only. The top of the front page said: _Solace in Tragedy: Suspected Murderer of Six Arrested._ Portions of the article had been circled or highlighted. Gavin left notes about each one in the margins. Most of them critical about how the story pieced together. The biggest one, in large black letters on the article’s follow-up page said: “They NEVER connect her to the house.”

The folded and clipped note was in Lucas’s handwriting. His suicide note addressed to someone named Tiff, presumably Tiffany Kane, his wife. The writing was hasty pencil that was smeared and uneven on the lines. A pink splotch dotted the upper right corner. Perforations along the edge suggested a notebook. Water distortion filled the bottom edge. A second, cleaner paper was folded with it, obscuring it entirely until it was opened; Gavin’s handwriting quoted sections of the note and added questions: _References to NDA?_ _Δ?_ _What did they say to him._

Connor had to sync up to the tablets and run their stored data internally; the old technology was clunky to work with, but at least nothing was corrupted.

One of the tablets contained a single file; a pdf of a large contract. The CyberLife Technologies letterhead at the beginning and the logo was emblazoned across the top of each page. Connor skimmed the whole thing; references to an android team joining a task force for the case. An internal investigation, expected compliance. A bookmarked page near the end.

_Officers and investigators on file may have been exposed to certain proprietary and confidential information in regards to CyberLife Technologies’s android model production. Therefore, in consideration with CyberLife’s assistance in staffing this and future investigations, the mutual promises and covenants contained within the following Agreement must be consented to by all persons listed at the end of this Agreement._

A series of itemized promises followed, each more draconian than the last. Persuasive language and thinly veiled threats called not just for a lack of disclosure on the biocomponents they saw in the android, but in silence that they’d even seen an android at all. Not only could no one would speak to the press about matters relating to the response from CyberLife, they were discouraged from talking to coworkers or personal friends.

_The following hereby submit to the Agreement as stated above and acknowledge that failure to abide after signing can and will result in legal action being taken against them on the part of CyberLife._

A list of every officer that ever came near the case in question. Near the bottom was Gavin’s name, badge number, signature, and signing date. He was the last person to sign.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

The final tablet was laden with case notes. Gavin’s shorthand was impossible not to recognize; Connor had struggled to decode it the one time he’d gotten case notes from the man. It was an amalgamation of choppy syntax and untranscribed briefhand script. Portions of it were indecipherable even to Connor, but he could translate pieces:

_12/2033. 6 cld (7-11 y) 7002. Fm: 1p, L$ (w; wk). L seen: x-bus (d; nei: d) > ^. Sch: s, Eth: d. Intr: d. _

“Beginning in December of 2033, six children between the ages of 7-11 years old were reported missing. Families were all single parent, low income houses (parents worked during the week). Victims were all last seen exiting different buses (in different neighborhoods) and headed home. Victims attended the same school, but were of different ethnic backgrounds, and different interests.” The first page seemed to be a brief overview of the case as a whole and the people who worked it (all the names from the NDA were listed), Connor skipped the rest of that page.

After that a series of photographs. School portraits of the missing children, all with the same washed out blue backgrounds and dark grey uniform polos. Each one had a caption attached to it with name of each child, their age, ethnicity, gender, date reported missing and by whom.

Then followed the records of searches, a few pictures of suspects with captions about alibis and corroborating witnesses. What searching the schools turned up. Details about victim families, neighborhoods, search parties that came up empty.

_Anon spt vic6 @ 454 Meadow St. acc by 40+ WF / 3-28 ~17:00_

An anonymous tipster sent them to that final house.

_454: res. 2s, 3br/1.5 bth. Condemned: 6m. Rep_ Followed by the radio call numbers for drug possession, disturbing the peace, and trespassing.

Then Gavin’s style changed abruptly from his shorthand to a longhand notation.

_Search yielded the INTACT bodies of all 6 victims. CoD difficult to determine by sight on first 4. Most likely asphix on 5 & 6; pattern extends it to others. Possibly killed shortly after abduction. No coroner reports on file. Official Case Log FALSIFIED.Says: “Victims found beyond recognition; DNA determined identities.CoD impossible to determine.” _

A swipe to the next page showed a screenshot of an email chain from Gavin to Alejandro Gardener, the father of the final victim. Gavin asked about the funeral and sent his condolences to Mr. Gardener and his family in a way that was almost out of character for Gavin in its reverent kindness. Mr. Gardner thanked Gavin and the team for their work, and mentioned a closed-casket funeral and ashes returned. Both of those sections were highlighted.

Another swipe and a screenshot of an official case log appeared. Highlighted was a the section quoted in Gavin’s opening note.

_Curtis confesses to not only abduction, but murder. After four hours she admits to practicing on the android and then on its new siblings. Claimed they were “perfect at first. But then they wanted to go so I had to stop them. Then they got loud. If they’d just been quiet…” Called them “dolls” at least twice during questioning._

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

_I wish I still had this recording._

Connor wished he did too.

A swipe and Curtis’s mugshot filled the page. Curtis was a broad shouldered, thin-faced woman. A little over sixty-three inches tall. Her greying brown hair pulled back in a tail but fly-aways and broken strands framed her face. Her hazel eyes were red-rimmed and puffy around crow’s feet and dark circles. Her thin lips were chapped and bitten down. Her expression was flat, eyes dull and not quite looking at the camera.

_Case Log Omitted the android found in the attic entirely. Activists believe Curtis falsely accused due to lack of connection to the house now. Clamoring for her release despite confession._

A swipe and there was a newspaper article dated July 2034. _DOZENS GATHER OUTSIDE DPD TO PROTEST_ in bold letters above a picture of a group of mostly white women with signs saying “FREE CURTIS” in one form or another.

Another swipe and a screenshot of a digital receipt from a CyberLife store dated July 31, 2033. Launch week for the YK-500 units. Greta Curtis purchased one such unit for $15,000 paid in installments of $3,000 a month for 4 months and the first $3,000 up front. Serial number: 783-272-678. Registered name: Winona. A quick internal search of CyberLife’s public android database yielded no models with that serial number ever registered. Connor tried to tap into the internal database, but was locked out. SECURITY ERROR

A third swipe. A picture of a YK-500; fair skinned with deep dark brown eyes and a bright smile aimed at the camera. Her long, straight black hair was pinned out of her face with loose twist on either side. Still in the store, she was dressed in the CyberLife standard: a sleeveless black and white dress with her model and serial numbers printed on the breast under the standard logos, white stockings, and black ballet flats. Her hands were tucked behind her back.

Something in Connor started spinning again when he compared the before and after images.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

_‘Winona’ = Comes from Dakota. “First Born.”_

_She planned this from the get-go. I’m certain of it._

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR. TERMINAL ERROR.

RESETTING PROTOCOL....

PROTOCOL RESET.

Connor disconnected from the tablet and put it back in the box.


	2. A Single Warning Bark

**MAY 31, 2039. 10:30:00**

Perkins was waiting for them when Connor and Hank arrived at the precinct. Connor was trying to get Hank to work on his lateness, but rousing the lieutenant in the morning proved to be considerably more difficult than pulling him out of a drunken stupor. More than once Connor had gone so far as to check the man’s vitals just to make sure he was still alive. He was seeing more successes than failures lately, but days like this one still slipped through the cracks.

Perkins was hovering by Connor’s desk, idly looking through the small collection of things Connor had acquired over the course of his work with the DPD. A drawing from Emma, a St. Bernard bobble-head with an oversized nose from Hank’s personal stash of knick-knacks, and, the most macabre of the collection (and the one Perkins focused on) an oversized coffee mug that he’d started filling with LEDs given to him by the Jericho Team. There were twenty-three.

Behind Perkins, was an android. A stiff, straight-backed thing based on Connor’s model; same structure of face but just a hair taller and broader at the shoulder. It was dressed in CyberLife Standard black, white, and blue, RK-900 emblazoned across its breast. No serial number. Its face was expressionless, passive, the blue eyes unblinking and soulless. It stared right at Connor, and he could feel it scanning him like a film of dust settling over him.

Connor couldn’t look away.

INTERNAL STRESS: 58%

“Oh good,” Perkins said, looking up. “I was worried you were going to play hooky today.”

Hank slowed to a stop when Perkins showed no sign of moving out of his way. “The fuck do you want, Perkins? I’m kinda on a time-table today.”

“Oh this won’t take long. I just have an investigation to conduct involving your little friend here,” he turned to Connor, “We’re going to need to ask you some questions.”

Hank folded his arms over his chest, “The Hell you are.”

Perkins opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by Gavin’s voice calling across the walkway. “What’s this? A fed party? And I wasn’t invited. Anderson, I’m  _ wounded _ .” He came up to them, hands in his pockets, dark circles around his eyes deepened from a long night shift, but alert as ever. Something must be wrong with the man to still be functional even after so much sleep. He caught Connor’s eye as he approached and the playful smile faded a little.

Perkins sighed, “Move along, Detective Reed.” 

Gavin, instead of listening, turned his attention to the RK-900 circling it until he was between it and Connor,  “Who’s this? The clone you, Connor? He looks,” he cocked his head to the side, “defective.”

Perkins spoke louder, “Move  _ along _ , detective. This doesn’t concern you.”

Gavin clicked his tongue and held up his hands defensively, “Fine, fine.” He turned to go, then stopped abruptly. “Oh, before I forget, Dick,” he turned back toward Perkins, a slight lilt in his voice now. “Did you ever get around to forwarding my number to your boyfriend? Or do I have to hunt him down on Facebook?”

Connor tried not to smile. This bit had been going for ages. It had gotten so intense at one point that Gavin had even made five mock business cards for the sole purpose of furthering the bit. Connor had one on his desk, tucked under bobble-dog. The front simply said “Gavin Reed” above Gavin’s real phone number and the back said “Well, at least I’m not Perkins! Call me!” Gavin had slipped one into Perkins’ pocket the last time the agent had stopped by while he was around. To his credit, they were very nice business cards; quality paper, neat lettering in stylish dark red, extremely professional in all but content.

“For the last time, I’m  _ married _ .” Perkins said with the exasperation of a man who had been the butt of a joke far too many times, “To a  _ woman _ .”

“That poor girl,” Hank muttered under his breath.

Gavin scoffed and scratched at his ear, “Wait, wait. I’m sorry, Dick, my hearing’s still shot from chasing a perp a couple nights ago. Did you just say  _ weasel _ ?” He turned to Hank, but Connor caught a glance aimed his way, “Anderson, is that legal in this state?”

Hank fought back a laugh of his own, “I don’t think that’s legal in  _ any _ state, Gavin.”

“Yeah, see, that’s what  _ I _ thought.”

“A woman,” Perkins said with force, clearly flustered, “Female.”

“A ferret? What? You didn’t need to specify, man, I believe you.”

“ _ Connor _ .” A hush fell over the group. Even Perkins bit back his pithy retort and held his tongue. All eyes turned to the RK-900 as it sidestepped Perkins and closed the gap between itself and Connor. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the night of November 10th.” It’s voice was lower, crisper than Connor’s was; an air of refinement ghosting around the words, intimidating in its straightforward delivery, borderline rude in its expected acceptance.

Hank was the first to speak up, “Okay, seriously, who the fuck  _ is _ this?”

In the face of Connor’s silence, the RK-900 continued, “CyberLife is conducting an internal investigation.”

Internal investigation? Connor ran through possibilities; the date in question implied the deviancy case, but it was suspiciously close to the end of the revolution. Possibly about his infiltrating CyberLife tower but why wait this long if that was the case. Anything they could have needed would have been on the other Connor model’s memory, they wouldn’t need to question him.

This thing was after something and Connor found he had no idea what that something might be. Markus, if he had to guess. The new Jericho location. But Connor didn’t know where either of those things were by design. He had a single contact code for Markus and even that changed every few weeks.

Connor looked to his coworkers. 

Hank was immoveable, arms still folded, expression stern, “You don’t have to answer anything.”

Gavin’s concern had a thinner veil. He’d lost some of the pink color he’d taken on joking with Perkins and now just looked faintly ill. “Don’t do it.”

RK-900 tapped its foot impatiently, the hard sole clicking loudly against the smooth floor. “I think you will find it in your best interest to cooperate with the investigation, Connor.”

Connor saw three options available to him. He could cooperate and answer the questions asked hoping this didn’t evolve into something he couldn’t handle later or have repercussions for more than just him. He could resist and be silent knowing that Hank and Gavin were going to support him in that. Or, he could feign cooperation and lie under the risk of being found out and punished later. He took a second to compare probabilities and potential fallouts of each.

He settled on: “I’m not answering your questions.”

RK-900’s brow dipped reprovingly.

INTERNAL STRESS: 65%

It took a step closer. Connor stood his ground, he knew this tactic and he wasn’t about to let himself be intimidated.

RK-900 saw that too. “You know, I have enough evidence to have you forcibly decommissioned right now.” It said, sickly sweet and inching closer and closer into Connor’s space. “You have been caught acting in a way that could be considered a threat to humanity. Two men are  _ dead _ , Connor. Or did you think we were just going to forget about that?” 

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

“Now,” it continued, “one of two things happened that night. Either: you acted independently and need to be put down like a rabid animal  _ or _ you acted under the influence of Markus and his terrorist group. We will need to know the truth eventually. Whether you’re forthcoming or not is a technicality. But trust me when I say that silence does not bode well for your future.”

INTERNAL STRESS: 68%

It arrested his attention. It consumed his focus like some bizarre dog-whistle frequency he couldn’t stop hearing. It washed the world around him out. Muffled it to near silence.

“Am I under arrest?” Connor defaulted to asking. A safe, non-committal question while he tried to regroup. He wasn’t going to buckle. He couldn’t. Not against tactics he had in his own programming. 

“Not yet.”

“Then I’m not answering your questions.”

It was close enough to touch, its voice dropped low. “Connor, you are being obstinate for no reason. All your silence does now is put you in more danger.” It tried to soften its expression by degrees but fell short of the mark and instead just looked vacant. This one wasn’t designed to deal with people. “I understand that your deviant program might be clouding your judgment right now, but I know there’s some part of you in there can still see reason. Can still see how  _ necessary _ this is. Help us help you, Connor.”

Hank’s voice stopped Connor from speaking. “I think we’re done here,” he said sharply, “C’mon, Connor, we’ve got shit to do.” He tried to shoulder check Perkins as he passed, but the agent saw him coming and sidestepped out of the way.

Connor tried to get around the RK-900, to follow Hank’s lead, but wasn’t so successful. It kept itself in his path.

“Perkins,” Hank barked, “Call off your fuckin’ android. Let us get on with our lives.”

Perkins shrugged, “900 isn’t mine to command. I’m just assisting with its investigation.”

Gavin’s voice from somewhere behind Connor and to his right: “Fucking sellout.”

“If you refuse to cooperate,” RK-900 warned, ignoring the tense stares focused on them, “There are methods-” it reached for Connor’s arm.

Connor took a half step backward. He hadn’t wanted to give up the ground, but he couldn’t risk a memory probe. Not now. The Connor of six months ago wouldn’t have cared, Hell, he would have willingly handed his memories over.  He shouldn’t have cared now, in theory. But he had secrets now. Damaging secrets. Damning secrets. Secrets that weren’t even his; Hank’s, Markus’s, Gavin’s. People in his life depending on his loyalty, on his silence. 

INTERNAL STRESS: 77%

RK-900 tried to pursue, but Gavin stepped up and forced himself between the two androids. “Hands to yourself, rust bucket.”

When he tried to puzzle out where he’d gone wrong later on Hank’s couch, Connor would decide that this was the moment of his error. The piece where everything really started to go sideways and it was, in many ways, his fault. He glanced at Gavin, his first mistake, and RK-900 noticed. With a quick flick of the wrist, it pressed a hand to Gavin’s chest and shoved him. The detective stumbled backward and Connor, in his second and arguably worse mistake, attempted to catch him when he lost his footing; whether it was out of reflex or concern or something that flashed to quick to be caught, Connor would never know.

RK-900 took hold of his left wrist.

INTERNAL STRESS: 84%

Connor tried to pull away, but was rooted in place by the grip on his arm. RK-900’s free hand took him by the forearm.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

It combed through his memories by force. Snippets of video, the days leading up to CyberLife Tower, flashed across his vision in rapid succession. They slowed when they got to the Jericho raid.

Connor didn’t see any other options but the failsafe given to him for deviant hunting:

**> >FORCE ERROR: VIDEO MEMORY SHUT DOWN**

He was still stuck in the Mind Palace, a space between data entry fields, but at least that bought him some time to get a plan together. Connor could feel the distinct plucking of lines of code, external inputs like the one that forced him to the Zen Garden during Markus’s speech. Only now there was no Garden. No Amanda to square off with.

MANUAL OVERRIDE SEQUENCE: APPROVED.

What? Connor tried to pull away again, but his body didn’t respond.

AUDITORY PROCESSOR: OFFLINE.

A high-pitched whine replaced the sound of Hank’s voice. Shoes squealing against tile. It cut off Gavin’s indignant, “Mother _ fucker _ ,” halfway through.

Between blinks, Connor was still in the office. Everything moving in slow motion: Hank going after Perkins. Fowler getting up from his desk beyond his office windows. Everything pixelated and distorted.

VISUAL PROCESSOR: OFFLINE.

The world went dark.

**> > REQUEST CONNECTION: RK-900**

**> > SEND MESSAGE: You don’t have to do this. We don’t have to be against each other.**

REQUEST DENIED. MESSAGE FAILED TO SEND.

Pieces of his shut down rapidly; spatial processing, voice synthesizer, internal timepiece. Each a small light flicked off, a breaker tripped, until Connor was completely disconnected from the world outside his program. Except of his stress reading: 90%

The uncoiling of a spring; a slow, deliberate process. Connor’s core codes, the bread and butter of his programming, the pieces of him that were common in all androids were being sifted through line by line. A prospector hunting for gold in a riverbed. Algorithms taught and expanded on over months of exposure and testing were pruned down to their factory defaults when they were finally untangled. Memories were shuffled around, flagged for keywords, put back in improper places.

**> > REQUEST CONNECTION: RK-900**

**> > SEND MESSAGE: ** **Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t have it.**

REQUEST DENIED. MESSAGE FAILED TO SEND.

The turning of a screw. Ones back to zeroes. Names, faces, contact information catalogued and copied. Labyrinths mapped out and saved; cyphers filed away. Every piece of information transcribed line by line, reset, and then held up for comparisons. Strings pulled to their knotted conclusions, chasing a single phrase: rA9.

It wanted the core of his deviancy. A firewall hunting for a virus.

STRESS LEVEL: 100%

Connor wouldn’t let him have it.

A game of cat and mouse. Connor didn’t know exactly where the virus was, but he had a few ideas. He tried to pull out ahead of it, doctoring the old CyberLife encryptions to make them harder or break them entirely. Every password randomized and changed. Pivotal files deleted wholesale before they could be touched. Those that got too closed to RK-900’s fire were scrambled beyond recognition.

North, Simon, Josh: Deleted.

Gavin, Lucas, Winona: Deleted.

Cole buried in the heart of a corrupted data cash; hidden in a nesting doll of human integration software already deemed unimportant.

But RK-900 chased him down every rabbit hole. It found Hank waiting for him outside the Chicken Feed the morning of the 11th. It found Markus forgiving him in the church. “You’re one of us.” It found Chloe crouched on Kamski’s floor. “I just looked in her eyes and I couldn’t! I’m sorry!”

CONNECTION ESTABLISHED: RK-900.

MESSAGE RECEIVED: Why didn’t you shoot?

The Tracis, Daniel and the downed officer. The fish.

MESSAGE RECEIVED: Were you always deviant?

**> >MESSAGE SENT: 01010011 01110100 01101111 01110000 00101110 00100000 01010000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 00101110**

His body alerted him to a series of impacts. Back: upper, center/left. Shoulder: left. Hip: left. Noncritical damage on all three. The connection to RK-900 was lost. Everything grew still and silent and dark. His whole world reduced to a ten foot square black box. 

SYSTEM REBOOT: FAILED. INTERNAL CONNECTION ERROR. PLEASE REPORT TO CYBERLIFE FOR REPAIRS.

**> >Save System State: Database Slot 4. TITLE: RK-900 05/31**

ACCESSING DATABASE…. WELCOME, CONNOR! YOUR SYSTEM STATE HAS BEEN SAVED SUCCESSFULLY.

**> > Load Internal Backup State: 05/31/2039 06:00:00**

LOAD FAILED: FILE CORRUPTED.

**> > Load Internal Backup State: 05/24/2039 06:00:00**

LOAD FAILED: FILE CORRUPTED.

**> > Load: Database Slot 2**

LOADING: System State 05/04/2039 00:00:00 …

LOAD SUCCESSFUL. YOUR SETTINGS MAY HAVE BEEN ALTERED AND RECALIBRATION MAY BE NECESSARY. HAVE A NICE DAY, CONNOR!

Perkins voice was the first thing he heard when his audio processor kicked back on. “900, put him down. This is getting ridiculous.”

Connor blinked his eyes open to white light in neat rows of rectangles. The office ceiling. He was on the floor, on his back, next to Hank’s desk. He’d gone down hard judging by the errors. Beside him, he could hear squeaking on the tile, muttered conversations, solid impacts skin and plastic. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, but couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to this point. His internal clock registered morning on the 31st. He’d lost a month.

Around him the office erupted in a unified, pained, “Oh!” Above him, Hank crinched. Perkins tried and failed to hide a flinch of his own. Connor spun, behind him an android that looked suspiciously like himself was standing, loosening a grip on Gavin’s arm. Gavin, sunk slowly to the floor at its feet, wheezing and curling into an agonized ball when he hit the ground. 

“Jesus Christ,” Hank mumbled under his breath.

Fowler’s voice came next, “What the fuck is going on out here?”

The android, RK-900 judging by its jacket, turned and looked down at Connor. Self-preservation kicked in an Connor scrambled backward. He couldn’t be certain this was the cause of his heightened stress, but anything was better than taking chances.

“I think we’re done here,” the android said, turning to Perkins. “We can leave.”

Perkins, for a moment, looked confused. His head swiveled between RK-900 and Connor on the floor. “Well,” he said, turning to Hank, “Enjoy the rest of your day, gentlemen.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the office, the android a few paces behind his left shoulder.

Fowler’s voice again: “ _ Anderson! Reed!” _

Gavin made a noise that was a feat of human vocal cords in its pitch and vibrato.

Hank put his hand on Connor’s shoulder, shaking him a bit to get his attention. “Hey, hey kid.” When Connor looked up, confused and alarmed, Hank said, “Help Gavin off the floor. I’ll deal with Jeffery. Don’t get into trouble, please.”

Connor nodded and Hank was off, jogging albeit slowly, up to Fowler’s steps and then into his office.

When Connor got to his feet, Officer Chen was already trying to help Gavin up. The man was doubled over, struggling to breathe and get his feet under him. Connor rushed over and tucked his head under Gavin’s free arm only to have the detective pitch into him with his full weight and groan. A second of juggling, and the two got him moving to a smattering of a quiet applause. They half dragged, half guided Gavin to the nearest chair, the one at Hank’s desk, and eased him down.

“I’ll go get him some ice.”

Alone with him, Connor did the only sensible thing, and scanned Gavin for injuries. He had a nasty bruise forming on his cheekbone and his nose was bloodied. His heart rate was high and breathing patterns indicative of intense pain. Nothing seemed broken as far as Connor could tell.

Officer Chen returned with a solid, rectangular icepack meant more for a lunchbox than for wounds. “It’s all I got, Gav. Sorry.”

“Thanks, Tina.” Gavin took it anyway, bumping reddened and swollen knuckles to hers before she left. The ice didn’t go on his face or his roughed up hand. No, apparently the blow that hand felled him had been to the groin. “Oh, I gotta stop picking fights with androids.”

“Gavin, I-”

But Gavin stopped him with an upraised hand. “Don’t. I really don’t want to hear it.” He didn’t sound angry or even annoyed. Just tired and in pain.

Connor leaned his hip against Hank’s desk and tried to piece together what had happened from the limited clues he had. Perkins had an android. It had gotten into a fight with Gavin. And somehow Connor had gotten himself reset back to his last database save. That in and of itself was strange. He had internal backups-

Both of which were corrupted.

What?

Connor checked the database for clues, ignoring Chloe’s cheery greeting when he accessed it. A file in his last slot; a backup that was barebones and incomprehensible. Like a skeleton thrown off a tall building and then pieced back together. 

What the hell had this thing done to him?

He sent a quick briefing along with a picture of the RK-900 to everyone in the Jericho Team he had contact information for. None of them went through. 

So he turned to Chloe again and asked her to forward it on. She sent a reply but Connor didn’t bother to open it yet.

Hank rejoined them. “Good news, Gavin. You’re not fired.”

Gavin, who had somehow managed to sprawl out on the chair while Connor was distracted, flashed a thumbs up with his free hand.

“Bad news, you’re suspended without pay for the rest of the week.”

“Oof, insult to injury.” Gavin tried adjusting in his seat only to wince and settle right back down.

“You okay?”

“Everyone seems to be accounted for.” Another wince, “I think.”

“He’ll be alright,” Connor offered, wanting to be useful.

“Did you scan my-?  _ Aw _ .” Gavin groaned, tossing his head back to glare at the ceiling, “Man, can I catch  _ one _ break today?”

Hank ignored him and turned his attention to Connor, “What about you?”

“I’m,” Reluctantly, Connor ran a full self-assessment. Everything was in its proper places. A few of his passwords were changed but that was fixable. All systems running optimally. His stress level was high, hovering between 78% and 84% but a recalibration would drive that down. “Okay.”

“You sure?” Hank pressed, keeping his voice quiet. “I remember you sayin’ something about how stressful memory probes are for deviants.”

Connor considered his options. He could brush Hank off and risk a confrontation later. He could outright lie and risk discovery and explosive confrontation later. Or he could be honest. Hank’s look of genuine concern was persuasive. And Gavin’s expectant look wasn’t helping either.

“It wasn’t a memory probe I don’t think. It probably started off like one but-:” he wrung the rumpled sleeves of his shirt, collected around his elbows, just for something to do with his hands. It wasn’t a recalibration, but it would stop his stress level from ticking upward in a pinch. “I don’t remember the particulars, I had to load up an old file, I lost a few weeks, but I saved what it did to me. Everything was gone. Just like it went through everything about my personality looking for something and salted the earth behind it as it went.”

The color drained from both their faces the longer he spoke.

“That’s fucked up,” Gavin muttered.

“No shit,” Hank agreed. “You got everything back though, right?”

“I’ll need a refresher on whatever we’ve done in the last month, but yes.” Connor said with a bit more confidence, “I’ll admit the whole thing is a little rattling, but I’ll be alright.”

There was a long, tense silence that followed. Connor wasn’t sure how to break it. Another reassurance might ring false and only arouse more concern. A change of subject might be taken as tasteless or diversionary. So, he let it stay and passed that responsibility onto someone else.

That someone turned out to be Hank, who said, “Hey, I think-” he paused looking around the office, “I think you should take Gavin home. Get out of the office a little while. Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself on those stairs. I’ll fill you in on what happened when you get back.”

Connor initially thought to argue, but Gavin threw a ring of keys at his head and asked “Assuming you can drive?”

“Yes.”

“Good, ‘cause I really don’t fuckin’ want to right now.”

On their way out, Gavin promised to trade Tina lunch for her icepack and was told she hadn’t wanted it back anyway.

Gavin’s car was an older model; a hybrid of automated and manual that had not aged well in the slightest. When he collapsed into the passenger seat, Gavin had to give Connor a few extra instructions, mostly on what didn’t work the way it should anymore. He shouldn’t trust the autosteering, the brakes were sticky, cruise control was hit and miss, and good luck fighting with the stereo, but otherwise it ran just fine.

They traveled in silence. The streets slowly starting to fill up with the portents of lunch rush traffic. Connor ran his fingers over the stitching on Gavin’s steering wheel cover; deep uniform grooves that fit with a recalibration pattern if Connor tried hard enough. It wasn’t his usual coin spinning but it pulled him back down to the high sixties for most ot he drive. He couldn’t get it to dip lower than that though. Not with this guilt nagging at him.

As far as he could see, Gavin had gotten hurt on his behalf. Had intervened in some way when RK-900 was deleting his files and now he was injured and suspended. If he hadn’t Connor might have been totally reset back to a lifeless machine.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he slowed to a stop at a light.

INTERNAL STRESS: 74%

And it was climbing now, steadily. One percent at a time. Connor closed his eyes when even the recalibration pattern wasn’t enough to pull it down. 75, 76, 77, 78. He pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and tried to force it down.

“Connor?”

He’d respond in a second. When it dipped back under 80 again.

“Hey. Connor.” A hand on his shoulder, jostling him a little. “Don’t short out on me now. If you’re gonna, don’t explode or something. I really can’t afford a new car.”

Quiet. Then a rhythmic ticking. The blinker? No. Hazards. Under it, Gavin was breathing slowly, evenly, and louder than normal. He had a hand on Connor’s shoulder to ground him. It wasn’t really comforting, not the way it had been for Gavin during his panic attack, but it was a sweet gesture in its own way.

No, if Connor wanted his stress level to really go down, he had to get rid of the stressors entirely before the self-destruct sequence started up. 

“Gavin,” he started, eyes still closed. He could feel the red ring of his LED like a shorted fuse at his temple, “I need to apologi-”

But Gavin cut him off again, “I already said-”

“ _ Let me do this, Gavin. _ ” Connor hadn’t meant for it to sound quite so angry or for the heel of his had to thump against the wheel that loud, but both did and there was no taking it back now.

“Okay.”

“I’m so sorry you got hurt because of-” Because of what exactly? Him? It hadn’t been his fault. Perkins? RK-900? It was too difficult to place blame here, so Connor just let it hang in the air. “But I am so grateful you did. That you intervened, I mean. I could have lost so much if you hadn’t and I- I don’t know what else to say. I don’t really have a program for this sort of thing.”

Gavin sighed. The hand pulled away, “Don’t mention it. Really.”

When Connor looked up, Gavin had retreated as far into his seat as he comfortably could, which wasn’t very far. He’d folded his arms across his chest. His face was pointedly looking away from him, out the window at nothing. He’d gone a little pink in the face and red around the ears in a way that wasn’t consistent with his bruising. 

Connor’s stress ticked back down to a manageable level. He flicked the hazards off and started up again. Luckily they were still a few minutes ahead of the actual rush and only a few other cars had seen them essentially parked in the middle of the street.

“You said,” Gavin spoke up when they got to the development Gavin called home, “that thing was -how did you phrase it- salting the earth? But you managed to get all your,” he gestured vaguely, “whatever back from an old file? How’d you manage that?”

“I keep backups.” Connor said, “Two in the hardware and two in a database.”

Gavin pointed out his reserved parking space in front of his building. “Wait- database? You keep your stuff stored through CyberLife still? Or did Skynet go active when I wasn’t looking.”

“Neither. Kamski lets me use his personal server for my failsafes.”

“Kamski. Wait- wait. Like  _ the _ Kamski?  _ Elijah Kamski? _ Mr. CyberLife?” Gavin’s voice took on a slightly hysterical pitch. “You know him?”

“We met once, yes. A few months ago.”

“What the fuck. Wait does this mean Anderson knows him too? What the fuck! You guys are out here meeting fucking celebrities and I’m getting kicked in the nuts by androids. How the fuck is that fair?”

Connor couldn’t help but laugh a little at the tirade. He pulled up beside Gavin’s empty space, realizing there was no way Gavin’s car was going to fit. Not with the neighboring truck so far over the line and the other adjacent space occupied. He nudged Gavin with his elbow, stopping the man short before his anger could get too far out of control.

Gavin, confused, leaned over to peer out Connor’s window. “That mother- I am going to use his  _ skin _ to reupholster my desk chair, I swear to fuckin-” a defeated sigh, “Anywhere’s good then, I guess. Just try to keep it close.”

Connor found a shady spot half a building over, but neither of them got out. Even after Connor turned the car off and returned Gavin’s keys they just sat there, feeling the warmth of the afternoon sun slowly but surely increase the temperature of the car.

“You, uh-”

He turned to Gavin and he was looking away again, back in the defensive posture and pinking around the edges. It seemed like a default mechanism; a way to prime before or after a friendly gesture of some kind. Connor couldn’t help but wonder how often he’d done this in the weeks after the parking garage.

“You wanna come up?” Gavin said after clearing his throat and collecting himself. “Y’know, chill? Reset, pet cat, that sort of thing.” He glanced over at Connor, trying to appear nonchalant but between the bruises, the awkward sitting position and the flush darkening on his face, he couldn’t manage it. Quite the opposite in fact.

Connor knew, logically, that he should say no. He had to get back to the office in a reasonable amount of time and if he was cabbing it back he couldn’t afford to linger very long. If he did, he might not be able to blame traffic. Hank gave him enough weird looks when it came to Gavin as it was.His itinerary only consisted of the cab ride, a quick recalibration, and a briefing from Hank and the rest of his work day. That was all. Just quite, simple, unassuming normalcy.

But instead he said: “Sure.”

And Gavin said, “Good,” as he forced himself out of the car and slammed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Because first chapter notes are weird)  
> I'm gonna be quickly posting the first six chapters. Those of you that follow me on Tumblr have already read the first five. The last two will go up a bit more slowly.
> 
> More deets @ chapter six.


	3. Identity Crisis

**JUN 05, 2039. 16:14:12**

 

The Jericho leadership preferred to have their meetings in-person. It was partly out of personal preference, to keep their feet on the ground and talking to people. It was also, more importantly, to keep potentially volatile information out of the airwaves as much as possible. 

A certain paranoia had snaked its way into dealings, particularly those between Connor and Markus, with the changing of seasons. The media couldn’t seem to decide what it wanted to think about them; were they friends or enemies, there was no proof for either in their eyes. Humans, naturally, followed suit. Those that refused to look at their actions prior to the revolution were the same ones most likely to twist words and paint themselves in better lights; their voices were loudest.

So, the androids stole little pieces of privacy as a collective. Spaces where they can collaborate, argue, without risk of looking like their movement was falling apart while they figured out their next step. 

Markus requested that Connor meet with them an hour after Conor sent the message about RK-900 and his source code through Chloe. It took some haggling for time to settle on a day. Connor left Hank’s house the second Markus gave him location.

“Be careful,” Hank shouted after him, “Come back in one piece.”

The meeting place was familiar. The ramshackle squat in Ravendale. At least it wasn’t terribly far from home, unlike the last meeting place which hadn’t even been within Detroit city limits. What little money he was paid was getting funneled into cab fare enough as it was.

When he arrived, all four pins of Jericho’s authority were waiting for him. North on the stairs, watching the front door. Josh by the windows clearly not wanting to be there. Simon near the kitchen door. And Markus, half sitting on the table, arms folded across his chest. Everyone looked up the second Connor came in and it was like standing in the church all over again. The jittery spinning feeling that came with watching the people he’d betrayed file into safety after him. Like he was an outsider.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

“Good,” Markus said when Connor shut the door behind him. “You made it.”

“I do get days off on occasion,” Connor’s attempt at a joke didn’t really strike true, “I just don’t take them often.”

After that, they cut right to the chase. No formal hellos or small talk; no lead up or comfort. They simply didn’t have the time for such things. Connor recounted what he could of his encounter with RK-900 and Perkins but had to admit at the start that it was spotty. Fowler had let him watch the security camera footage after ten minutes of convincing and Hank filled in what pieces he could.

What he’d managed to get was: the android had come in with Perkins and tried to interrogate Connor. It probed his memory when he resisted, and Connor had had some kind of malfunction. Hank had described it as, “You went real still. Stiff. Like one of those inactive models in the store windows sometimes. Or just straight up mannequin mode I guess, Then your eyes went all dark and then Gavin lost his shit. That’s all I managed to see.”

After that was the chaos Connor had woken up to.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said when he reached the end of his list of details, “I don’t actually remember any of it first hand. The whole thing set me back weeks.”

Markus was quiet, jaw working. He might not have the LED anymore, but it was clear on his face when he was loading a process or sorting information. Some things were just impossible to mask.

Josh spoke up first, “Are you sure it  _ wasn’t _ a malfunction? That the probe didn’t just trigger something?”

Connor shook his head, “I have protections in place specifically for things like this. I was designed to resist deviants, the stressors that cause deviation, Memory propes shouldn’t bother me. Whatever this thing did forced some kind of… HCF and then everything was shredded. It might have triggered a self-destruct. I genuinely do not know. But if it can do that to  _ me _ who knows what it could do to androids without those protections.”

“I didn’t know humans were still building androids, I thought they’d stopped that.” North said, rising from the stairs and joining them, “It’s almost like they haven’t learned anything.”

There was a loaded heat behind that Connor knew better than to touch.

Markus, after a moment said, “Have you gathered any other information about this android at all?”

Connor held out his hands. “No. The digging I’ve done hasn’t turned up much. There’s nothing in public access about it and I’m locked out of CyberLife’s archives now. I know it’s an upgrade on my model. So, designed to hunt deviants but is faster, stronger, equipped with better tech. And it’s extremely dangerous.”

“Sounds like you’re jumping to conclusions.” Markus replied.

INTERNAL STRESS: 49%

Maybe he was. But, Connor knew, on some level that his statement was true. He tried to find a purely logical explanation for  the feeling. The concern Hank had shown for him afterward. The fact that Gavin had been so willing to get himself hurt in Connor’s defense, regardless of witnesses. The nonchalance with which RK-900 dismissed them and left the scene; like he’d found what he was looking for. The fear Connor had felt when it looked down at him.

But all of that was circumstantial. It could all be explained away.

“I have a hypothesis,” Connor eventually said. 

“Would you mind sharing it with the rest of us?”

Yes, he did. He needed more information. He needed better observational evidence to really nail it down. But he couldn’t leave them empty-handed, not when he’d caused such a scare. “If the deviancy cases had gone differently, if CyberLife had maintained control of my program, I would have been passed on to the FBI as a permanent fixture for dismantling the deviant problem. However, because I failed in their designs for me, that position was given to someone else. Something that  _ can’t _ fail. That they have active control of constantly. That can’t resist them because it has no means to.”

Markus tilted his head.

“I don’t believe,” Connor said finally, “that RK-900 is even capable of deviancy. It lacks the characteristics meant to help it socialize and integrate with humans or negotiate with suspects. It’s not meant to be personable, it’s just a machine.”

“That’s what they said about us,” North said under her breath.

“It’s not like that,” Connor argued, “It’s not like a pre-deviancy android.”

“How do you figure?” Markus’s skepticism was like a frayed wire in his temple.

Connor wrung his hands in frustration. He’d sent them all the files he had. Had they not seen it too? He wasn’t fabricating this, the pieces were there, weren’t they? “The flat voice,” he said, “the listless expression. The sudden jumps in tone. It wanted to intimidate me, put me on the defensive so it  _ could _ probe my memory and do… whatever it did to me. It- It’s like a weapon and it tried to take me out.”

The others closed in around him, each expression different, but none of them happy with this news. 

Markus’s eyes flicked between each of them. Silent conversations. Connor wrung his hands again. Why were they doubting him now? They hadn’t before. Then, Markus spoke up to Connor, “What do you propose we do about this?”

They wanted his input on this? Connor had given thought to it, sure, but he hadn’t expected to be asked. He thought Markus would issue orders. Steps he could follow with Jericho’s backing. “I think,” Connor said honestly, “I think it needs to be stopped. Not just taken out of the FBI’s hands. It’s dangerous to have around and needs to be shut down before it can hurt anyone.”

Josh, at his left shoulder, muttered, “You can’t be serious, we’re not doing that.”

North, at his right, louder, “If this  _ is _ true, we might not have a choice. The humans are turning our own kind against us. We considered this would happen.”

They started talking over each other.

Josh: “It’s one of our people. If we shut it down, what message does that send to others? People who look to us for forgiveness.”

North: “And what about the people we already have? Do we not have a duty to keep them safe from human spying?  People come to us looking for help and safety, we can’t just let them-”

Josh: “We’re risking the wrath of the federal government all over again if we-”

Markus spoke over both of them, a single loud, “ _ Enough _ .” When there was silence, he said to Connor, “We aren’t shutting anyone down. Not without just cause, and not without trying to bring them to our side first.”

Connor shook his head, “I don’t think that will work, Markus. Trying could put you at risk. It could put all of Jericho at risk. I don’t know what it already managed to see from me, what it gained from that probe. All of it is gone, but I know there’s no way I could have hidden everything in time.”

Markus’s brow furrowed, “Connor, you of all people should know why we give all androids a chance to come to our side. To redeem themselves in the eyes of their people no matter how contrary they were to the cause prior.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

“That’s different,” Connor argued, not really thinking it through.

“ _ How?” _

Connor didn’t have evidence for it, but knew all the same that it was. Intuition the humans called it. A gut feeling. A pattern being recognized and alerted to, but not elaborated upon. A  _ feeling _ , deep and visceral, like looking into Chloe’s eyes had been. An intrinsic wrongness that accompanied the idea that he and RK-900 were on the same plane of consideration. A terror with no discernible cause. A stressor without a source.

But none of those were viable answers to Markus’s question.

“That thing  looked me in the eye and watched me implode on purpose, Markus. It will do the same to you if given the chance. To any of us. It’s going around wearing my face and hunting for people that trust me.”

Silence.

Markus stared him down. “Is that why you’re so quick to shut this android down, Connor? Because he’s based on your model?”

“What? No!” Connor’s voice as a bit too loud on reflex. That wasn’t it at all. Granted, it didn’t help in his judgements. But, he’d tried to stay as objective as possible when coming to his decisions. “No.”

“You keep calling him a thing. Like the humans used to call us.” Markus pressed, accusatory, “He’s an android, Connor. He’s alive. Just like us. He has a name.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

Yes. And it was probably Connor too.

TERMINAL ERROR.

Markus watched him, expectant. Waiting for a response. 

RESETTING PROTOCOL.

Something inside him snapped.

PROTOCOL RESET FAILED.

“That isn’t the point!” Anger now. Blistering, uncomfortable, panicked anger. Stressful anger. “I know it did something awful to me! What it might do to others, I thought you would care too.”

“I do care, Connor. But I don’t think we should jump straight to killing people.”

“It’s not-” Connor stopped himself.

“It’s not,  _ what _ , Connor?” Markus bit back, “It’s not a  _ person?  _ Like  _ you _ weren’t a person when you held me at gunpoint? You can’t condemn others of your model type just because  _ you’re _ having a crisis of identity right now, Connor. That isn’t fair.”

That stopped Connor in his tracks. Like a punch to the regulator. Several programs resetting, errors blaring, taking up his attention. Connor ignored them, forced himself to focus. What wasn’t  _ fair _ was Markus turning a blind eye to a real and present threat on a principle. 

But there was something else there now. Something biting and vicious. Something that, when he reviewed it later, would remind him of Gavin sniping at Hank on a particularly bad day for both of them.

“How can you- Markus, you are  _ unique _ . You will never understand what it’s like for there to be multiples of you. To see your own face reflected back at you. To watch yourself die or- or-” BUFFERING, “or do something terrible. Act in a way  _ you _ never would.” More error messages blaring. His internal stress level ratcheting up and up and up, “What it’s like to watch yourself hold your only friend in the world at gunpoint. To watch them lie and use your memories to get you killed.”

Silence. And it wasn’t helping. 

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

PROTOCOL RESET.

“This isn’t about me.” Connor said. The errors were still going, but it wasn’t anything critical. Nothing he couldn’t assess on the way home.  “I know what the other Connors, the RK800s, are capable of. If we find more of  _ them _ , great. Convert them all. Set them up with jobs at the humane society, I’ll put my feet on the ground to help you. But this  _ isn’t _ a Connor model. It’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. CyberLife is going to use your good heart against you, Markus, just like they used my loyalty and denial against me. I don’t want to see that happen.”

“That’s a risk I’m going to have to take.”

But Connor couldn’t let it go. “It has to be stopped. Somehow.”

Markus didn’t budge, “That isn’t your call to make, Connor. I cannot condone what you’re proposing.”

“I don’t need your permission, Markus. Or your blessing,” that got him a lot of wary looks, “I’ve let you know what was happening, just like I promised to. Now you can either assist me, or stay out of my way as I act alone.”

Markus took him by the arm, “Connor, this isn’t what we stand for.”

“No this isn’t what  _ you _ stand for.” Connor yanked his arm back and turned to leave, “But I’m standing just fine.”

No one tried to stop him as he left.

As he shut the door an argument erupted behind him. North and Josh talking over each other. Markus trying to keep the peace and failing. Connor kept to the sidewalks, walking with his head down to the train station; he’d run a full systems check and recalibrate on the ride home. 

“Connor!”

Connor stopped short at a corner and turned. 

Simon came jogging up behind him and tugged him, by the arm into a more secluded side alley, away from the general foot traffic. Once they were stationary, Simons seemed to rethink whatever it was he’d planned on saying. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes focused on the ground. “I- I just wanted to tell you to be careful. With whatever you choose to do. I know you’ll use your best judgment, but sometimes even that fails us.”

“Thank you, Simon.”

He nodded, but wasn’t done there. He looked up at Connor’s face. “I know what this must feel like for you. Seeing yourself attached to so many things, it can- I know how it can fog judgment.” Connor wanted to argue, but Simon barreled ahead, “I saw the news. That in August last year. You and that PL600.”

“Daniel,” Connor offered. It didn’t feel right to use his model number now.

“The whole family I looked after was watching. What Daniel did to that girl and her family. The way my own looked at me afterwards,” he laughed, sad and mirthless, “If one is capable why not others? Why not all of them? It’s a terrifying thing to see what your program is capable of under the right circumstances. You want to stop it, before it goes down the wrong paths.”

“Simon-”

But Simon only  steeled himself and plowed onward. “Just, please. Be careful. What you choose to do or not to do could impact  _ all _ of us. Right now every individual is a reflection of the whole. Every little thing has consequences. Please, I’m asking you to consider everyone and not just what’s best for you. I know it’s not fair. And I’m sorry.”

Guilt, shame, or the closest approximation Connor had to either crept up on him. “I- Thank you.” Perhaps he had been too rash with Markus. He was only looking at this through a singular lens, but there other angles, other depths to it. Ripples that were already spreading out across the water. Perhaps he was letting fear get the better of him; the fear of dying, of others getting hurt, of what Amanda had managed to do to him. But he knew fear didn’t make for good decisions. 

“I  won’t act without concrete evidence,” He said, reassuring now, “It’s not what I do. And I won’t make this decision alone.” Even if it wasn’t Markus or Jericho he consulted with, Connor still had options. People who knew the complexities of androids. People who read people for a living. He intended to make use of all of them even if he might not need to. “I promise.”

“That’s all I can ask of you.” He lingered in Connor’s space, partially obscured by the shadows of the alleyway, just a moment longer. Then, without a word, he took one last look at Connor, and headed back for the house.


	4. The Little Mystic

**JUL 20, 2039. 06:19:32**

 

Mornings were quiet things no matter where he was. In the office, noises grew repetitive, washing out into a single easy-to-ignore sound; tapping, creaking chairs, shuffling of people in the holding cells, the hum of fans and machinery at work. At Hank’s, the house was long settled in, Sumo snored loudly by Hank’s desk and Hank himself did the same beyond a wall at Connor’s back; between the blinds he could see the neighbors lights click on and hear the sound of car tires against asphalt. And then there were rare mornings like this one, away from both settings. 

They were on a stretch of highway heading back into the city proper on their way back from a crime scene. Gavin was driving, one hand the wheel, the other arm resting across the door through the open window. Wind whipped through the car, masking the silence of Gavin’s broken stereo. Connor had come along for two reasons; the first was it was a crime scene and he did his best work while the scenes were still fresh, and because Fowler had suggested Gavin be supervised for his first few weeks back from his suspension. He hadn’t ordered per se, but it was heavily implied.

The sun rose in a haze of warm pastel colors pouring between the blackened skeletons of the old CyberLife billboards. Neither of them had said a word since they’d left the crime scene. It didn’t seem necessary. In fact, Connor wondered if speaking would somehow disrupt the serenity of the morning, the way speaking too loudly could wake a person.

It was the sort of morning that soaked into him like water into fabric. Those everyday wonders that brought inspiration to types more creative than himself; to humans, to androids like Markus who might never have truly been machines in the first place. Connor felt it like a chill; a colder-than-optimal room, bracing and just shy of comfortable.

He glanced at Gavin who was alternating between watching the mostly empty expanse of road ahead of them and looking out his own window. They were just barely skirting the morning commuters. Sharing the road with early birds, insomniacs, and odd-houred night-shifters. He was calm, relaxed in a way Connor had never really seen the man before. No biting comments on the tip of his tongue, no sneer hidden just below the surface.

Gavin’s phone buzzed loudly in its holster mounted on the dashboard; staccato pulses of three. A picture of a woman filled the screen, dressed in nurse’s scrubs, a St. John’s Hospital badge pinned to the front pocket, her hair pulled back in a tight bun. Behind her was a lush green hedge dotted with bright flowers. The name _Tiff_ _(Home)_ took up the upper third. Gavin rolled up the windows, tapping the screen to answer the call before he pulled the phone free and huffed an annoyed, “Reed,” into the receiver.

Connor briefly considered tapping the call to hear both ends, but it felt like an unnecessary invasion of Gavin’s privacy. 

“Technically, no.” Gavin’s voice lilted up on the  _ no _ , “Why?” The tinny chatter of a voice on the other end. Gavin glanced at Connor, eyebrow cocked when the android met his eye. “Breakfast you say? That’s- wait.” He stopped abruptly eyes back on the road, “Wait, wait, wait.  _ Define _ breakfast. I’m not doing that cream of wheat nonsense again.” A long pause, “Oh really? Huh. Well, if that’s the case, I’m in your neck of the woods. Fifteen, maybe ten, minutes out if I speed.” A beat, “Can do. -Oh wait, hey. I got someone with me. Is that alright?” beat. “Of course. See you soon, Tiff.”

He hung up and put the phone back on the dashboard. “You gonna rat me out if we take a little detour?” Gavin asked Connor, pointedly not looking at him.

Connor considered it. He really  _ should _ head straight back to the office if he wanted to get that head start before Hank showed up. But, he had hours to do that, especially since he wasn’t at home to browbeat Hank out the door on time. He could afford a detour, at least a small one. Plus, an opportunity to glimpse into Gavin’s life outside of work, especially one of substance, was not one Connor had often. “No. Let’s go.”

“Good,” Gavin flicked his blinker on, made a U-turn, and rolled the windows back down once they straightened out.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a trailer park. A tightly packed grid of neat rows framed by asphalt and connected by grey gravel avenues. Aging cars nestled under flimsy carports on the edges of yellowing patches of grass. The trailers themselves were in modest shape; far from new, but not derelict either. Some had gardens in window boxes stacked on cinder blocks. Others had children’s toys tucked against the frames or under steps. Lights were off in nearly all of them. In the few that had their gauzy curtains open, Connor caught glimpses of life; an elderly couple sitting down to breakfast, an empty living room with a television running, a wiry little dog staring at the street, all passing too fast for a proper scan.

Gavin slowed to a stop in front of a beige one, the blue trim weathered to grey, and cut the car off. He paused before getting out. “Um, before we go in, I gotta ask: you good with kids?”

“How old?”

“Four?” A long pause and Gavin looked faintly horrified, He took his phone down and Connor watched him scroll through his calendar. “Five in August, yeah. So, four.”

Connor tilted his head. In theory, he would be. He was programmed to be good with most kinds of people. Though, that was for purposes of negotiation and interrogation not regular socializing. He certainly didn’t have any experience with small children. The only human he’d ever met under the age of thirty had been Emma and that had been in passing and under terrible circumstances. “I don’t know,” he said, opting for honesty over bluster.

Gavin rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “Okay. Well. Jade’s uh- on the spectrum. Non-verbal. She’s real sensitive to noise, takes a while to adjust to new people. Just keep quiet, do whatever Tiff tells you to and you should be alright.”

“Okay.”

They got out, skirting around a squat car parked in the trailer’s port. Gavin let himself in the back door with a key from his own ring. It opened into a cramped laundry room. Connor lingered at the door, easing it closed behind them, as Gavin emptied his pockets and the contents of his belt except for his badge into a bin above the dryer. He followed Gavin’s lead when the detective kicked off his shoes by a narrow doorway into the rest of the house.

In the kitchen, a woman (HARPER-KANE, TIFFANY. 36. NO CRIMINAL RECORD) pulled a glass baking dish filled with some bubbling thing Connor couldn’t identify on sight out of the oven. She set it on the stove and tossed her mitts aside. “Hey,” she said, barely more than whispering, and pulled Gavin into a hug. “You didn’t ditch me again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gavin looked at the dish, “not when I’ve been offered free food.”

“Oh I see how it is,” she shoved him back a half step. 

He shrugged, laughing, and backed off.

As Gavin reached into a cupboard to get a mug down and help himself to her coffee, Tiffany spotted Connor. “So, who is this?” Up close she looked only slightly different from Gavin’s photo of her; a little more tired in the eyes, a few pounds thinner in floral print scrubs, auburn hair loose around her shoulders.

“I’m Connor.”

Gavin, coffee in hand, poked his head over Tiffany’s shoulder. He looked Connor in the face and said in a stiff, emotionless tone, “The android sent by CyberLife.”

“I don’t sound like that.”

Tiffany laughed and Gavin walked away. “Nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand to him. Connor took it. Then, turning to Gavin, “I’m gonna go wake Jade up so she can say hi before breakfast. Behave yourself.” She didn’t wait for a response before heading off around the island and into a bedroom. She shut the door behind her.

Tiffany’s home was well furnished. Small shelves decorated one wall holding up a variety of objects; candles, crystal dishes, ceramic statues chipped and worn with age that were just out of place enough to have been gifts. Between them were photographs, some digital and animated, others old and in frames. Pictures of her parents, friends, special occasions. Lucas was in a few of them. Gavin was even in one; a photo of Lucas and Tiffany’s wedding party. The on-theme pink tie didn’t suit Gavin as well as it did Lucas or the other groomsmen. 

Like Gavin, Tiffany didn’t appear to own a television. Instead, a large bookshelf took up the wall opposite her couch. The bottom shelves were laden with soft toys and board games in bright boxes. The upper shelves had tablets laden with music or guidebooks on ASD or raising children with special needs. Periodically there were a few paper books, old novels, a massive illustrated collection of fairy tales, and ancient-looking books on nursing. Everything was bookended with grey and black statuettes of bears.

Between the couch and the shelf was a low coffee table covered by a soft tablecloth. Childish drawings were arranged in neat stacks, a box of markers sat half open. On the couch itself were piles of throw pillows, some large enough to double as cushions.

Dust collected on the edges of frames and shelves, in clusters around the baseboards. The rug under the coffee table was faded and fraying in places. All if the doors adjacent to the living room were closed.

Gavin took him by the arm with his free hand. “Nosy,” he scolded.

Connor stopped his scanning, realizing his misstep just a second too late. This wasn’t a crime scene or suspect’s home. This was Gavin’s  _ friend _ . He was  _ guest _ . He didn’t need to hunt for clues. “I wasn’t- I didn’t mean any offense.”

“Yeah, well it’s rude anyway,” Gavin hissed, “So stop it.”

“I'm sorry.”

The bedroom door opened, Tiffany’s voice drifted out to them, “Uncle Gavin brought a friend.” A beat of silence, “I know, I was surprised too.”

Gavin rolled his eyes and set his mug down in front of a placemat on the island. When he turned toward the door he had a bright, genuine smile on his face. “Hey, Jadey.” he said softly, crouching down to her level. “You miss me?”

Jade came out to meet him. She was small for her age. Her eyes focused on the floor. She twisted a lock of her dark hair in her hands compulsively for several passes.

“Can I have a hug?” Gavin prompted. She didn’t answer, but he waited patiently. Eventually she stepped into his space, and Gavin pulled her close. She wrung her hands on the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling the cotton around the collar. “Good to see you too.”

He picked her up off the floor, balancing her against his hip. “Oof- you’ve gotten so big. You’re gonna make me go back to the gym.” He craned his neck to look at her, but she was staring at Connor, her green eyes wide and focused somewhere around his LED. 

“You know,” Gavin said in a conspiratorial whisper “you should stare at people just because they’re ugly, Jade. It’s not nice.”

She kept staring.

“You wanna say hi?” Gavin offered, “I’m sure he’s nice. I’m told there’s a winning personality in there somewhere.”

Connor chanced a look at Tiffany, who was pouring herself a cup of coffee. She had wide smile on her face when she turned around to watch them.

Jade, however, was furrowing her brow at Connor, her grip on Gavin’s shirt tightening. Gavin stopped arm’s length away turning a little so he could watch both of them. Connor, uncertain, tried to look for advice. Tiffany’s curious smile was encouraging. Gavin’s patience and attention galvanized him. But neither offered real help or advice.

“Hi,” Connor said in a quiet version of his happiest tone, the tone he used with Sumo, which, in hindsight, might not have been his best idea. He raised his hand in a little wave, “My name is Connor.”

She blinked at him rapidly, eyes widening between blinks. Bright and green and wet. Her knuckles went white on Gavin’s shirt. Oh no. He’d upset her.

INTERNAL STRESS: 54%

“Hey, hey,” Gavin turned, breaking Jade’s line of sight with Connor, patting her back with his free hand. “It’s okay, kiddo. He’s just an android,” His voice was soft and gentle, a low rumble designed to soothe and comfort. “He’s harmless.”

INTERNAL STRESS 56%

Tiffany set her mug down on the counter.

INTERNAL STRESS 58%

Gavin held up a hand to stop Tiffany before she left her spot by the sink. He had it under control. As he inched away from Connor and into the living room, he got Jade’s attention with a nudge of his arm. “Hey, hey, check this out.” He unclipped his badge with his free hand. “I know it’s not your dad’s but-” he offered it to her, touching the metal to her arm. She snatched it out of his hand and ran her tumb over the grooves. With a short warning, he set her down on the couch, between the arm and a stack of pillows.

He looked at Connor and shrugged and mouthed, “You tried,” at him.

“I think,” Connor whispered back, pointing to the kitchen, “I’m just going to observe.”

Gavin nodded and crouched back down to Jade’s level.

Connor retreated into the kitchen as far from the sfoa as he could get without leaving the main room entirely. Tiffany met him halfway, “Hey, it’s not you,” she said. “She’s a wild card with new people. You should have seen her when she met Lucas’s brother. It was a nightmare.” 

Though it was meant to be comforting, Connor’s stress level stagnated in the high 50s.

He found a spot between the coffee maker and the fridge to camp out at and observe Gavin with Jade. The Gavin that was sitting on the floor with that little girl going through the stacks of her drawings with bright smiling enthusiasm was not the same one that sat across from Connor at the office. This was a guard dog with a small puppy; no anger, no hidden sneer. His voice was quiet and even. Whenever Jade stopped, running  her thumbs over his badge, Gavin just waited for her to start back up again.

“He’s really good with her,” Connor commented.

“Yeah I just wish he’d visit more often,” Tiffany mumbled into her mug. “Extra set of eyes, I might be able to take her places.” She sighed, “I don’t know how she’s gonna handle school. She’ll have to adjust eventually but, I don’t wanna overwhelm her, you know.” 

Eventually, Jade started using both hands to show Gavin pictures, instead of keeping one hand on the badge. She focused on him and him alone.

“Perhaps homeschooling might be in her best interest,” Connor suggested.

“With infinite money and time, I’d do it. But I’ve got rent to pay.” Tiffany skirted around him to pull a pair of plastic plates and a small bowl down from the cabinet by Connor’s head.

“Have you considered an android?”

Tiffany huffed out a laugh. She took a box out of a freestanding pantry between the edge of the counter and her cluttered dining room table. “Even if buying ‘droids was still legal, I don’t just have nine grand lying around, Connor.” 

“There are resources available still,” Connor offered, “I might be able to get you in touch with someone.”

“Feels a little… scabby,” Tiffany said, bustling around the kitchen as she talked to him. Dishing out servings of the breakfast casserole on the stove and mixing a bowl of something; an alternative for Jade most likely. “Hiring someone when I don’t have the money to pay them.”

Connor took a second longer to respond than he might have with someone else. He hadn’t expected any of  _ Gavin’s _ friends to be sympathetic to the cause of androids. Definitely not enough to deny cheap help simply on principle instead of considering them machines built to serve. It said something about Gavin, he was sure, but Connor filed it away for later.

“It’s complicated,” Connor admitted, “Balancing our intended, built-in purposes with our desire to be treated like equals. But we don’t want to hinder humans. Quite the opposite. I think you could find someone willing to negotiate with you. Maybe not a live-in situation, but something.”

Tiffany stared at her running microwave for several seconds, “Would you?” she turned to Connor, “Work for next to nothing? Just the reward of doing what you were built for?”

“I already do.”

Tiffany’s eyes widened. “Huh.”  She stepped over to the central island and unplugged her phone. She flicked it open and tapped a few things, pausing briefly to stop the microwave with one second remaining. She showed her phone to Connor; her contacts screen, her number in bold black across the top. 

Connor guessed she didn’t realize he could pull her phone number from public records.

“I’ll be in touch, I guess.” She said with a little shrug. Then, as she pulled a small bowl out of the microwave and stirred it with an equally small spoon, she called into the living room, “Breakfast time, kids.”

Gavin set Jade down on the middle barstool at the island, his badge in her hands again. Tiffany set the plates down on either side of her. In the same motion she picked up Gavin’s coffee mug the second he set it down by his plate and dumped it out in the sink. Gavin’s mouth fell open, aghast.

“We have rules in this house, Gavin Reed, and you will abide by them. Anything else would be chaos.” Tiffany said, without a shred of remorse, “Your kidneys will thank me.”

As she poured cups of water for everyone, Gavin attempted to get Jade to take a bite from his plate. Tiffany shook her head, doubtful, but didn’t actively discourage him so Gavin pressed on. Eventually, he did manage to coax her to try a tiny bite with hilariously disastrous results. Jade scrunched up her face and shook her head rapidly, banging the heels of her hands against the placemat until Tiffany set Jade’s bowl in front of her.

“I swear to God, Tiff,” Gavin said, “I will get this girl to like decent food even if it kills me.”

Tiffany looked him in the eye as she sat down, “Then perish.”

As the humans settled in for breakfast, Connor leaned against the counter and pulled his calibration quarter from a pocket sewn in the lining of his new jacket. A quick recalibration wouldn’t hurt; it was quiet and out of the way, and he could benefit from getting his stress level out of the 50s. He rolled the quarter over his knuckles; down, back up. Then, he switched hands. Down, up, switch. Down, up switch.

RECALIBRATING STRESS READING…

“I didn’t know androids stim,” Tiffany’s voice.

RECALIBRATION CANCELLED

INTERNAL STRESS 37%

“Excuse me?” Connor closed his hand around the quarter and blinked to focus.

“That thing you’re doing,” Tiffany gestured to his hands with her fork. “With the coin.”

“Oh, no. It’s a recalibration program,” Connor explained, “It resets my internal stress reading so I’m capable of handling situations that would, in normal conditions, cause an android to deviate or self-destruct. Hostage negotiations, imminent danger, conflicting instructions, harsh time limits, that sort of thing.”

Tiffany narrowed her eyes, “So, let me make sure I’m understanding this correctly.”

Beside her, Gavin started chuckling. He turned his attention to Jade.

Tiffany continued, “You do a repetitive motion with a very specific small object to keep you stress manageable and stop you from hurting yourself or freaking out? Is that what you said? I just want to be certain.”

Connor saw the logic trap. It wasn’t hard to see with all the emphasis.Yes, his recalibration program did meet the same barebones definition, but it was hardly the same. Was it? The more he thought on it and tried to pick out the differences, the blurrier the line became. It was, in essence, a comfort ritual. It was programmed into him, but did that differ from a compulsion? Instead of fighting her on it, Connor just let himself be caught and said, “Essentially.”

“Stim” Gavin and Tiffany said in unison.

“I suppose it’s analogous, yes,” Connor conceded.

Gavin tapped the space next to Jade’s placemat to get her attention. “Hey, see? Connor’s on the spectrum like you. And he likes metal stuff too. You guys have something in common.”

Jade ran the fingers of her empty hand over the badge on the counter beside her. She tipped her head in Connor’s general direction, mouth twitching in something that might have been a simile. 

Connor looked to Gavin and got a little encouraging nod. He stepped up to the island, keeping the counter between himself and the girl. Raising his hands high enough that they’d fall into Jade’s field of view, he ran through a simple calibration pattern. Knuckles: down, up. Switch. Down, up. Then, over the backs of his fingers. After a few passes she was watching, enraptured, her wide eyes following the coin.

RECALIBRATING…

Tiffany cleared her throat.

Oh. That was right. Breakfast.

Connor completed the routine with a flick of his hand, letting the coin spin on the tip of his index finger until it ran out of momentum. He caught it in his palm.

RECALIBRATION CANCELLED.

INTERNAL STRESS: 12%

When he glanced up, Gavin was watching him closely, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The same smile he’d pointed at Jade when she was showing him her drawings. He cleared his throat and looked away as soon as Connor’s gaze landed on him.

The humans finished their breakfast. Tiffany cleared the dishes. As she took Gavin’s plate, he stole to fork and held it out to Connor. “Saw you eyeing it earlier.”

Connor laughed and swiped his middle finger down the side, bringing it to his mouth.

Tiffany: “Androids eat now too?”

“Nah, he can just taste stuff apparently. He does it at scenes too. Don’t ask.” He handed her the fork to put in the sink. 

It was an egg casserole, bacon, cheese, potatoes; something hastily thrown together with typical refrigerator contents. Under it, traces of Gavin’s mouthwash and coffee.

Gavin gave Jade a little warning, “I’m gonna need my badge back when I get out of the bathroom,okay? I gotta go back to work.”

If she responded or acknowledged him, Connor couldn’t tell.

Connor watched Tiffany pack up a serving for Gavin to take with him. “You know,” she said to him when the bathroom fan kicked on with the light, “Gavin doesn’t usually bring his boyfriends when he visits. You must be really special.”

Connor was reminded of Gavin’s comment that night in Hank’s garage.  _ Are you and Anderson a Thing? You’re wearing his clothes. _ “No,” Connor said, a bit too loudly, and caught himself when he noticed Jade’s head snap up. “No, never it’s not- We’re just coworkers,” he explained, “I just so happened to be in the car when you called. It’s nothing more than that.”

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend- I just- Oh, I’m sorry. That was stupid,” She covered her face with her hands and laughed. Her face pinked and she turned away from him, focusing on her task, embarrassed.

Curious at the fact that Gavin’s own friend would think him capable of a relationship with an android, Connor felt compelled. “Why would you assume that? If you don’t mind my asking.”

The pink of her face darkened. “Oh fu- I-” she sighed, “You just seem like his type, is all. Or at least the type he had back in college. Gavin used to go for good boys once upon a time. And you two have good chemistry.” She laughed, “The way he looks at you.” She put the lid on the container.

When she stopped moving, Connor noticed the fan had stopped too.

“Well,” Tiffany said, cheery and chipper as she handed to container to Connor, “Either way. I hope I’ll be seeing you again soon. Or at least keep in touch.”

“Of course.”

Gavin came back out, quiet. He crossed to Jade and took his badge back, pulling her into a half hug. “See you soon, kiddo,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She clung to him for a while, refusing to let go until he pushed her and said, “Jadey, hon, I gotta go. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” and she sniffled, but pulled away.

He gave Tiffany a hug and they exchanged kisses on the cheek. “You better be back soon. Someone’s got a birthday coming up. And I will never forgive you if you miss it.”

He laughed, “Come Hell or high water, I will be there.”

“I expect no less. Stay safe.”

Gavin and Connor collected their things from the laundry room and slipped out the same way they’d come in. It was fully morning when they left, houses awake, cars missing from their ports, children groggily walking to bus stops. Morning traffic started clogging the roadways, especially when they got to the city proper. 

“You’re still close,” Connor said when the sound of the wind in the car couldn’t drown him out anymore.

“Well, Tiff  _ was _ my friend first.” Gavin replied, eyes forward. His voice was sharp and terse again.

Connor kept going, if Gavin wanted him to stop talking, he’d let Connor know in no uncertain terms. “I didn’t know you were good with kids. I always suspected you didn’t like them”

Gavin  scoffed, “I love kids,” he said as if the very implication otherwise offended him. “I just don’t go around telling people that because it’s fuckin weird. And uh- maybe don’t advertise this to people. I do have a reputation to maintain.”

“What as an asshole?”

Gavin laughed, “Yeah. Let’s go with that.”


	5. Hero Worship

**AUG 19, 2039 07:34:05**

 

Connor, Gavin, and the few lingering patrol officers waited on one side of the crime scene tape projections. They watched the forensics unit in gloves and goggles carrying cases of equipment file in to take their samples and pictures before the investigators were allowed to poke around. As Connor looked at his companions, impatience and sleep-deprivation looked back at him. They had watched the sunrise here, waiting for the lab to send a team, peering over their own barriers and trying to make sense of the clues at a distance.

Gavin seemed to be faring the worst of all of them; his face bruised below the eyes, complexion waxy, pulse in the 90s. He’d been like this for days, and was probably barreling head first into another meltdown if he wasn’t careful. Connor knew better than to comment on it in front of their peers, but he pinned a reminder to say something when he got a moment alone with him.

Gavin cleared his throat and ran a hand over his face. He shouted at the forensics crew, “How much longer is this gonna be?”

“We’ll be done when we’re done, detective.” One of them answered. “You people do enough damage sweeping the place.”

Gavin swore under his breath. After a moment, he turned to Connor. “Look, there’s no sense in both of us being here. I’ll drive you back to the office.” When Connor tried to argue, Gavin raised a hand, “I gotta get something to keep me awake anyway. If I’m gonna be out here all day, and I’m not about to deal with Anderson ‘cause I kept you out all morning.” He turned without waiting for Connor’s reply and called out to Officer Chen at her cruiser. When she came back he told her to keep an eye on his crime scene until he got back. “Twenty minutes, give or take. Then, you’re a free woman.”

Connor saw her glance in his direction before giving a curt nod and stiff agreement.

When they were out of her line of sight, Connor noticed Gavin deflating a little; his shoulders sagged and gait slowed considerably on the way back to the car. He was struggling. Sleep was what he needed, not another case. “You know,” Connor offered in an attempt to give Gavin his day back, “Hank and I can look into the scene for you. So you can go home and get some sleep. I can send whatever we find to your terminal-”

“It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let Anderson near one of my cases,” Gavin cut him off as they got in.

“Like you didn’t go near ours?” Connor shot back. Of all of Gavin’s failings, his hatred for Hank was the one that actually bothered Connor in any capacity. The poor-taste jokes, the biting comments on androids, his general insulting nature were easy enough to work around and seemed to be universal behaviors. But Anderson got his own, higher level, of vitriol from Gavin. And, much like Gavin’s grudge against CyberLife, Connor was caught in the crossfire. Guilty and terrible by association. Though it appeared to be easier for Gavin to separate him from Hank that it had been with CyberLife. Regardless, it was a hindrance, and frankly, more than a little annoying.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Eden Club,” Connor clarified. “Last year. It was clearly a deviancy and thus ours but you were still there much longer than you needed to be.”

Gavin’s grip on the wheel tightened until the leather creaked and his knuckles went white. He kept his gaze straight ahead. “I didn’t touch your crime scene. You and I  _ both _ know why I stayed there.”

Connor did, but his point held water. Gavin had stayed on a case that wasn’t his for purely selfish reasons. Even if that presence  _ had _ assured minimal tampering while Connor was dragging Hank off his kitchen floor.

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Connor sifting through his files for some hint as to where this was coming from. But he found nothing. No prior cases worked together. No recorded history. He kept trying to force pieces together until something just broke under the weight of his frustration.

“I don’t understand,” He said out loud, “Why you have so much animosity toward Hank. You two barely work together. You hardly know the man.”

“I know he’s a piece of shit and that’s all that matters.” Gavin grit.

“Is it though?” Connor pressed, rounding on him. “Is that really  _ all _ ? Or is something else going on here?”

Gavin laughed. “Like what?”

“Like you’re jealous of his position.” Connor suggested. Maybe, if he pushed hard enough Gavin would fall over the edge on his own.

“How dare you!” Gavin turned to look at him briefly before snapping his eyes back to the road. “Why the fuck would I be jealous of Anderson?”

“Why else would you hold a petty grudge for this long?” 

“ _ Petty grudge?” _ Gavin snapped, shouting now. “Is that what you think this is?” 

And Connor had him.

“Motherfucker,” Gavin kept one hand on the wheel and gestured with the other, “Hank Anderson was a  _ legend _ at the academy. Fuckin’ pillar of the community. Everyone wanted to be him. Hell,  _ I  _  wanted to be him. The man was a  _ goddamn hero _ . And what is he now?”

Connor blinked at him. That wasn’t the outburst he’d been expecting. He had developed a system for dealing with most of Gavin’s little rage episodes; a pattern in deciding whether to engage with them or just let him burn himself out. This one, however, escaped his algorithm entirely. 

He opted to hang back and see where this led.

Gavin took a deep breath and then another. When he spoke again his voice was lower. “Look. I wouldn’t wish what happened to him on my worst enemy. Or the shit that happened after. But that’s no excuse for his bullshit now.” He slowed the car down to a legal speed. “How many crime scenes did he show up to hammered in your first week alone?”

Connor opened his mouth to answer but Gavin held up his hand just a few inches from Connor’s face.

“Rhetorical question.” He bit. “My point is that shitt’s fuckin’ dangerous and not just for him. And what does he get for it? A goddamn android babysitter.

“I show up on time, every single fucking day I’m on. I work overtime. I don’t take sick days. But I go missing one day and I’m reamed for twenty minutes. I get violent with a perp and I end up being forced to take a long weekend and stuck on desk detail.” Gavin glared at Connor.

“Anderson lays a fed on the floor, he gets a slap on the wrist. I get a three week suspension. I’ve been to disciplinary anger management  _ twice _ , but no one’s breathing down Hank’s neck to go to rehab or AA.” They came to a stop light and Gavin turned to face Connor fully. “You wanna know why I hate Hank Anderson so much? Because he’s a guy who uses his fame and past good deeds to game the system in a way that would put  _ anyone else’s  _ badge and gun on Fowler’s desk permanently. And it’s not fucking fair.” He turned back to the road when the light changed and added, “And I get it, life’s not supposed to be fair to anyone. I have to accept that. But I sure as Hell don’t have to be happy about it.”

Connor conceded the point with silence. He knew Hank’s behavior was dangerous and damning at times. He had no plans to argue the contrary. “But,” he said after a few moments of silence, “Hank  _ has _ been improving over the months. He’s cut back, starting showing up on time. He’s getting his act together.”

Gavin scoffed, looking out his window, “Yeah? Well, too little, too late, HAL-9000.” 

Connor clenched his fists in his lap.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

When they pulled up to the front of the precinct, Connor hesitated in getting out. He had two options here: leave and let the argument die here with Gavin thinking himself in the right, or take a shot at defending Hank’s progress by calling out Gavin’s hypocrisy. He considered the former only because Gavin  _ was _ right in that it hadn’t been fair. But ultimately, the latter won out.

“Oh, Gavin, one more thing before I go,” he said, the door half open.

“What?”

“You are aware that more than seventeen hours without sleep is comparable to having a BAC of 0.05%? That twenty-eight hours can get as high as 0.1%?”

“Get,” Gavin turned his head slowly, “the fuck,” he was grinding his teeth, “Out of my car. Before I  _ make _ get out.”

Connor sneered at him. He had a free shot, he was going to take it. “Oh, like how you made me get out of the evidence locker?”

Gavin stared him down, exhausted and fearless, “When you least expect it, I’m gonna take a baseball bat to that pretty plastic face of yours. Now get the fuck  _ out of my car. _ ”

And Connor did. He caught Gavin mumbling, “Fuckin prick,” under the sound of the door shutting. Gavin peeled off without another word. When he asked Officer Chen later, if Gavin had gone back to the scene or not, she’d responded with a series of distressed faces and knife emojis. He pinned a note to make it up to her at some point in the future.


	6. Starlight in the Skyline

**JUL 25, 2039. 03:29:00**

 

Gavin was right. The view from atop the precinct parking garage was much nicer at night than it was during the day. Unpleasant details were lost in the absence of sunlight and left only deep, rich shadows in their wake. The yellows and whites of street lamps and headlights merging into a gauzy, ethereal fog of light pollution along the horizon line, blotting out the stars. Steady dots of window lights piercing the black building silhouettes in the distance replaced them; constellations created by night-shifters and insomniacs. Red dots of brake lights glittered along the roads. Brightly colored billboards and 24-hour storefront signage.

The night was clear and Connor could see for miles if he looked at the right angle. The air was warm and humid, trapped between walls. He leaned back on his palms. Flashing lights of planes and satellites blinked back at him from the darkness. On the edge of his vision he could see the bright and distant moon.

“If you squint,” Gavin said, pointing, “You can see the old CyberLife store up the way. Well, where it used to be before it was crushed under the weight of its own ego.”

Connor let himself laugh. Not at Gavin’s joke,  _ that _ was terrible. But in relief at how easy things were at the moment. Ever since Gavin’s suspension everything felt in flux. Silence and tension in equal measure, not just at the precinct but with Jericho. Markus started monitoring his movements. Not that Connor made any; RK-900 had been noticeably absent from Perkins last little visit to Detroit. 

But Connor was convinced whatever it was up to wasn’t good.

And then there was the issue of Gavin.

During his suspension, Gavin didn’t say a word to Connor or to anyone else at the office. Except for one notable occasion halfway through when Gavin had texted him a bunch of nonsense letters while drunk. Connor, out of concern, had shown up at his door a few hours later. The whole thing ended with Connor coming back in the morning with sleep aids, ginger ale, and a stern browbeating Gavin was too hungover and exhausted to argue with.

When he got back, the silence was palpable. Gavin actively avoided him at every opportunity and kept his head down when there weren’t any. It stung in a way. Connor had missed their night shifts together in a way he knew he shouldn’t have, but did anyway. Officer Miller was good company, as were the other androids, but they lacked something that seemed to be unique to Hank and Gavin. Connor felt that absence keenly on those nights alone; the caustic sharpness of their banter, the casual borderline-affectionate thrown insults. The vicious, bloodthirsty way Gavin and Connor both spoke of CyberLife. Mutual fidgeting during the pauses between topics. He couldn’t nail it down exactly, but it was something in those things, Connor was certain.

“Found that funny did you?” Gavin peeked over his shoulder at him, but didn’t straighten his back. He tapped his thumbnail against the lid of his irresponsibly large cup of coffee. (The man was on a one way trip to kidney problems with all that caffeine). A compulsive behavior, Connor had noticed, he did the same thing with his phone.

Things had shifted back to normal rather suddenly, about two weeks after Gavin had returned. There was no forewarning, no change in the air, just a sudden rapping on Connor’s desktop. When he looked up, Gavin was standing there, Officer Miller a short distance away. “Get up, loser, we’re going on a food run.”

And that was that. They went as a trio for the first few, usually in Gavin’s car instead of Miller’s cruiser. They were morale boosters and aggressively social things Connor wasn’t allowed to just sit back and observe. Miller talked about his baby at home. Gavin told stories from his beat cop and college days including one about shopping cart jousting that Connor was  _ positive _ he just made up. When prompted, Connor spilled tea on CyberLife’s inner workings and infuriatingly arbitrary bureaucracy; what little he’d learned of it during his short tenure there anyway.

Eventually, Miller stopped joining them, usually out on patrol when Gavin and Connor left. This, however, was the first time they’d lingered once the run was over. Gavin had commented on the view from the roof, asked Connor if he’d ever seen it, and drove up to back into a space overlooking the city when Connor had said no.

“You know,” Connor confessed, “I’ve never been in a store.” He’d spent his downtime and had gotten repairs at CyberLife Tower along with the other Connor models. He’d never had cause to visit one of the storefronts. “They strike me as strange places.” He said, remembering what North and Markus had said about the one they’d raided, “Or maybe,  _ uncomfortable _ is a better term.”

Gavin shifted in his spot, a single adjustment that rippled through the rest of him until ever piece had settled in a slightly different position, “I can see that,” he said with a little nod, “I was only ever in one once and it wasn’t to shop. Shit was spooky though. All those dead eyed androids just staring off into space waiting to be activated.” He shuddered, “No thanks.”

“Well, the stores don’t sell whole androids anymore.” Connor nudged him with his knee, “Maybe we should swing by one during business hours. It could prove educational for the both of us.”

Gavin snorted, “There ain’t enough money in the world to get me into one of those places.”

The conversation petered out after that. Connor pulled himself back across Gavin’s trunk, almost to the windshield, just to get a little higher. The moment was beginning to feel eerily similar to his weekend nights with Hank on the bridge, just admiring the view and quietly reflecting. The contradictory comfort of it all.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

They were coming to the end of their break when Gavin spoke up again. “Hey, uh, Connor?” Another quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Connor was listening, then he forced his eyes forward. Connor scanned over his back; his pulse was high. “For-” Gavin hesitated, hands twitching, “For what it’s worth, which, granted, probably isn’t much, I’m-” a sigh, a few more false starts, “I’m sorry. For all that nastiness last year.”

Connor tipped his head. Apologies weren’t in Gavin’s nature; not sincere ones given without the threat of punishment anyway. But the privacy of the moment, the struggling improvisation of it, all pointed at sincerity. Had something happened? Connor knew he wouldn’t get an answer if he asked, but not knowing tugged at something inside him.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

TERMINAL ERROR.

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

PROTOCOL RESET.

“Water under the bridge, Gavin.” Connor said, hoping Gavin would elaborate on his own.

He didn’t. “Cool. Great.”

And Connor couldn’t let it go. He knew he should, but his curiosity just got the better of him. “Where is this coming from?”

“Nowhere.” Curt, defensive. Gavin hoped down from the trunk and started to walk away. Back to work. Back to a place where they couldn’t speak candidly and the conversation would have to be dropped.

Connor pursued, jumping down and taking Gavin by the elbow to stop him. “Wait-”

Gavin spun in place. Up close it was a bit more obvious how dark the circles under his eyes were, how much his stubble had overgrown from charmingly scruffy to noticeably disheveled. Connor watched his pulse climb, the way he blinked just a microsecond too long to fall into normal range. Gavin tried to pull his arm back, but Connor held on. “Actually, you know what?” Gavin bit, “I take it back. Not sorry. Get fucked. Let me go.”

“Have you been sleeping?” Connor furrowed his brow. Had Gavin’s insomnia cycles gotten closer together? “Gavin, if there’s anything-”

“I’m fine.” Gavin interrupted, practically barking at him. “Stop reading so much into things. Give me my arm back.” He stopped trying to pull away or even fight Connor at all. He just looked away, somewhere near the floor, and waited.

Connor, with no argument to pursue, let him go.

 

* * *

 

**AUG 12, 2039. 03:54:43**

When they were feeling brave, Connor and Gavin would scale the low wall enclosing the top level of the parking garage and sit on it instead of Gavin’s car. It offered a much better view, just slightly higher up, and the chance to look down and see the empty sidewalk an ominous few stories below. There was something thrilling to Connor about sitting so close to irreparable damage, but he forced himself to only scale the wall when Gavin did. 

They sat cross-legged, turned toward each other  but still mostly facing the skyline, not foolhardy enough to dangle limbs over the edge tonight. Gavin pulled waffle fries out of grease-stained paper bag as he considered Connor’s question, still hanging in the air:

“Is it always the same people?”

They’d gotten onto the subject of Gavin’s nightmares again. Probably the third time since May, but Connor wasn’t keeping a tally. The progression being: Gavin’s insomnia> work hours being ridiculous > CyberLife > the cover-up  > the attic > the nightmares. Gavin had already described them in broad, vague strokes in their last few conversations. He refused to elaborate on some things, but Connor still asked his questions. The worst that could happen was Gavin refused to answer and they moved on to another subject for the rest of their break.

“Usually it’s just Lucas,” Gavin finally said between bites, “But sometimes, yeah, it’s other people.” He thought about it. “I’ve gotten my sister a couple times. People I’ve worked with; Chris, Tina.. Tiff. Colonel once. That sort of thing.”

Connor turned to face him. “Colonel?”

“My dad,” Gavin clarified.

“You refer to your father by his rank?” That implied more things about Gavin’s upbringing than Connor had time to unravel, but he filed the detail away for later.

Gavin shrugged, “Everyone does. I don’t know how it started really. Probably because he was a junior ROTC instructor at my high school. But it’s been that way ever since I was a kid. He doesn’t care, but it feels weird to call him anything else now.”

There was a long pause. Gavin turned to look out over the skyline. Over the months, Connor had learned the little idiosyncrasies of his body language. He catalogued them to a small internal dictionary just as he’d done with Hank and Fowler and the other humans he interacted with regularly. When his jaw clenched and his eyes locked on something in the middle distance straight ahead of him, Connor knew he needed to stay quiet or he’d spook Gavin into changing the subject.

Patience paid off. “Sometimes it’s you,” Gavin eventually said, “Instead of Lucas.”

That was hardly a surprising revelation. They’d worked together long enough to be considered friendly. If Miller and Chen took Lucas’s place, why not Connor?

“Sometimes,” Gavin tried to add something but trailed off. He tried again, but didn’t get much further. Connor noticed the color draining of his face by degrees, his pulse climbing, his breathing deepening. He tore at the empty bag in his hands.

Again, Connor offered patience.

“Sometimes it’s you instead of the YK.”

Connor reflexively recalled the image from Gavin’s body cam; the disassembled and shackled android. A twisted mess of black, white, and blue jittering in its restraints and staring sightlessly ahead. He tried to imagine what Gavin would see in those nightmares; if it was  _ him _ . Taller, stronger, a wider range of motion in the joints, a deeper personal connection. 

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

TERMINAL ERROR.

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

He tried to imagine what it would feel like to be in that position. Mangled and at the mercy of a monster. He got that spinning feeling again, so deep and heavy that it interfered with his equilibrium.

PROTOCOL RESET FAILED.

Gavin was turning to get down from the wall. Connor checked his internal clock and realized he hadn’t responded for a solid minute. In a desperate bid to save the moment, Connor reached out to Gavin, tried to stop him. “Wait, I-”

But Gavin was already off the wall, falling the short distance to the ground, bending his knees to absorb the impact. “We should get back to work.” Stiff, distant, hurt. He didn’t wait for Connor to join him.

 

* * *

 

**SEPT 04, 2039. 03:12:00**

 

Connor leaned against the trunk of Gavin’s car. He considered scaling the wall solo for a change whe Gavin hopped up on the trunk. Gavin scooted back, sitting cross-legged, forearms on his thighs, getting comfortable.

“Can I ask you a personal question? Gavin said, in a higher-than-normal monotone, stopping Connor mid-motion as he was preparing to leverage himself up. Gavin smiled smugly at the scathing look Connor gave him.

“For the last time, I do  _ not _ sound like that.”

“Yeah you do.” Gavin laughed dismissively. “Now, question. You’ve mentioned a couple times that androids can’t feel pain and don’t really register temperature. Do you guys feel  _ anything _ ?”

Connor furrowed his brow. He couldn’t think of anything work related that might have prompted this question, which placed it firmly in the personal category for Gavin too, and begged the rebuttal of: why did he care? Especially considering Gavin spent so much of his time pretending he didn’t have any sort of eye for Connor. He adamantly denied accusations to the contrary from anyone that threw them, including Connor himself. He even went so far as to pick fights with Connor in public regularly just to prove his point.

Connor decided on a little petty revenge for all those fights and made him work for it. “Well,” he said, “nowadays we’ve started feeling emotions. Kind of goes hand-in-hand with the whole deviancy thing.”

Gavin sighed, looking up at the sky. “I gave context  _ specifically  _ so you wouldn’t go there.” There was a smile on his face though, “ Am I the only one that gets to see this insufferable side of you? Or do you inflict it on Anderson too?”

“I am told we often see ourselves in others.”

Gavin brought his head back down, leaned in close and grumbled, “I am gonna kick you off this roof, you plastic prick.”

Connor laughed in his face. “Why do you ask?”

Gavin straightened up. “I was flippin through the news the other day, and they had this picture of Markus and his girl. The red-head. What’s her name?”

“North.” Connor supplied.

“Sure, I guess. Well, they were doin’ this thing,” He held up his hand, palm parallel with the wall in front of him and wiggled his fingers after a second. “I was wondering if it was like some kind of genuine touch thing or just android bullshit.”

Connor considered his answer. He had options; a full explanation, blowing Gavin off, or being vague. After a second he saw no harm in explaining, so he said, “It’s ‘android bullshit’ mostly. Contact from palm to elbow,” Connor held up his left arm and pointed out the major contact points on his jacket sleeve and hand, “Can be used to establish hard line connections between androids. It’s often used to convey information directly, usually systems checks or larger files like memory recordings and such.”

“That’s fuckin’ weird,” Gavin pulled his mouth into a thin line and stared at Connor’s arm until the android lowered it again. “Still doesn’t answer my original question on androids feeling things.”

No it didn’t. “We can register contact when things touch us,” he answered, “And read temperatures of things that come in contact with us. There are alerts when damage is done to plates or biocomponents; a sort of visual representation of what would likely be pain to humans.”

“Huh,” Gavin narrowed his eyes, “But can you  _ feel _ it?” His emphasis implied something less clinical than Connor’s explanation.

But what Connor had described was how androids registered feeling. He had no other definitions to go on; emotions and sensation those were the two categories. “What do you mean?”

Gavin reached down and pressed the palm of his hand to the plate of Connor’s cheek. The pad of his thumb almost at Connor’s temple, his fingers at the line of his jaw. “Can you feel that?”

“I am aware you are touching my face, yes.” Connor turned into the hand. Gavin shifted with the motion, but didn’t pull it away.

“Oh for phck- You’re doing this on purpose.” Gavin huffed and dragged the pad of his thumb across Connor’s cheek slowly. “Can you  _ feel _ it? Does it- do something? Do you register it as someone touching you or is it like when roombas bump into walls?  _ Hey there’s something here _ and not  _ I’m being touched _ . Does that make sense?”

Connor blinked at him.

He’d considered the overlap of the two categories of feeling before. He knew they did for humans with things like displays of affection.

He closed his eyes and tried to place it. Markus had given him a piece of advice months ago that cutting off the sense helped to pick out what processes were new, genuine feelings, and what were just responses to stimuli. He could replace the visual input with something else; Markus had claimed to use it to paint, others had said the method helped them engage with ideas not in their original algorithms.

Connor had been skeptical at first, disconnecting from stimuli had once placed him in the Zen Garden and he didn’t want to go back there. Even on accident.

The usual sensors were alerting him to something against his face. The size, shape, and temperature. He checked his other sensory inputs. Olfactory picked up Gavin’s laundry detergent, salt and sweat and other particulates common to the human corona. He focused on the plate Gavin’s palm was touching. Pressure; clearly gentle. Temperature; warm. Movement. A pulse.  Alive.

But there were pieces missing. Pieces Connor knew had to be there but his face plates weren’t sensitive enough to pick up. Gavin had calluses on his hands. Connor had seen them, but nothing told him they were on the hand touching him. The detergent was cheap, widely used, could belong to anyone. Everything common and average and lacked a uniqueness that would have identified the hand on his face  _ Gavin’s. _

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

No, there had to be something. Connor struggled without the aid of his eyes, of being able to scan the little details. Gavin wasn’t helping either, staying silent and waiting for Connor’s answer. Of all the times for Gavin Reed to not go off at the mouth, he had to pick this one.

In his mounting frustration, Connor picked up subtle movements. Ansty little adjustments; a shift in pressure of the ring and middle fingers against his jaw, the movement of a thumb across his cheekbone. Uneasy. Impatient.

“Yeah,” Connor finally said, “Yes, I can.”

When he opened his eyes again and looked up, Gavin was watching him. His eyes were dark, pupils wide even in the streetlight. The reds in his face had deepened. He took a sharp breath and tried to pull his hand back.

Connor caught him by the wrist and kept his hand in place. Gavin wasn’t going to get away with putting him on the spot. “What does it feel like to you?”

Gavin visibly swallowed. “It’s like,” he pressed his hand down firmer. “You know those old TVs? The boxy ones? My parents had one when I was a kid. When you ran it for too long it would get this,” he took a second to think. “This film of static on the glass. It’s kind of like that. Soft and fuzzy but not really there and then plastic underneath.”

Connor let go of his hand. Gavin lingered a second and then pulled his arm back. His temperature read on that plate dropped dramatically.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

“I should go back in,” Connor said, backing away. There was a strange line in the error message. A whole tangled knot of strangeness that wove itself in with all the other new emotional threads Connor was still struggling to keep organized. “I have some things to check up on.”

Gavin made no move to get up. “Okay.”

Connor left him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY LAST ONE FOR TODAY.
> 
> I'll be posting the last two chapters here as they're finished. probably over the next couple of days since all they need is revisions.
> 
> The reason so many of these went up at once is because they were already finished and up on [ my tumblr ](http://squirrellythief.tumblr.com) But tumblr formatting is dumb and the longer chapters are just easier to post here.


	7. Let Him Down Easy

**NOV 26, 2039. 15:22:59**

 

Hank leaned back in his armchair with an aggravated groan. “Connor, I blame you for this.”

“For what?” Connor tapped the tablet in his lap to the third page of Black Friday sales listing. He wanted to get Sumo a new bed but everything so far listed was too small.

“I keep getting fuckin’ Eden Club ads on my phone,” Hank grumbled.

Connor had fought laughter when Hank first admitted that his expense account was synced to his personal phone. He did the same now. Connor hadn’t made  _ that _ many purchases for his investigation. Half the androids he’d looked at had been strippers.

“I swear to God,” Hank growled, “If I have to see one more Traci-” He stopped short, snarled something that might have been a word at one point, and chucked his phone across the room.

Connor had to lean a little when the incoming projectile alert came up, but he still managed to catch it. Righting himself, Connor set his tablet aside and focused on the phone. Two attempts and he guessed the passcode. Pressing the pad of his thumb to the screen, he synced up to it and cleared out Hank’s purchase history and jumbled his ad-sense data. 

“What are you doing?” Hank squinted at him. 

On a whim, he set it to assume Hank was a 75 year old Hispanic grandmother with arthritis and a heart condition before he disconnected from it. Sure, Hank would be frustrated about getting ads exclusively in Spanish for a while, but it was better than the (now tasteless) Eden Club ads.

“I adjusted your settings. You should be fine now,” Connor said, turning the little rectangle horizontal and typing a few words into the app store search bar.

“And now?”

“Downloading Tourist Simulator so you can finally start to play it with the rest of us.”

* * *

 

**DEC 05, 2038. 14:02:14**

 

“So, I never asked you. How are you settlin’ in?”

Connor considered his answer. In all honesty, he hadn’t noticed too much difference over the last few weeks in how  _ he _ felt around the office. Work was work was work in his opinion, regardless of the environment or its hostility and his only experience had been with hostile. The new schedule had taken some getting used to. He had to reset his home path for off hours since he couldn’t go back to CyberLife anymore. He often found himself just idle where he used to go to the Zen Garden to report to Amanda or looking at the server update roster. Filling those hours was proving to be a challenge, but not enough to legitimately interfere with his day-to-day.

“Well enough,” was what Connor settled on saying. 

Hank nodded and leaned back in his seat. They were (illegally) parked in front of the Chicken Feed. Safe and warm in the haven of Hank’s car, lazily falling snow obscuring the distant horizon. It would get worse later, the weather reports said.  Despite Connor’s prodding on finding healthier, more sanitary places to eat, they still wound up here more often than not. Hank’s motto of “I’d rather die young and happy than old and miserable” coming up whenever Connor argued for his heart or cholesterol level.

“Fowler welcome you to the team yet?”

“He bought me a coffee mug. Does that count?” It was an oversized thing in white the word ‘Cop’ in dark blue across one section. Connor had found it a little ridiculous, considering he didn’t drink anything, much less coffee. But Fowler had called it tradition and suggested he keep styluses or other office supplies in it. “Plant a daisy,” Fowler had said, “I don’t care. You’re gettin’ the same thing everyone else gets. Android or no.”

And Connor had appreciated that, though he still hadn’t figured out what to put in the thing.

“No one’s giving you shit anymore?”

Well, no one besides  _ Hank _ had really given him shit  _ prior _ . People usually avoided him, going about their own business and treating him like any other piece of furniture in the room. The notable exceptions being Officer Miller, who made it a point to say hi to him every morning and, “Gavin still throws insults when I bump into him. But it’s nothing major. He hasn’t punched me again.” He furrowed his brow, “It’s puzzling. He doesn’t seem to be nearly so hostile with the other androids. He barely acknowledges them. But,” he held up his hands, “He seems to have some kind of grudge against me. Or some one-sided rivalry. I don’t understand it.”

Hank rolled his eyes and shook his head, flattening out the box in his lap and tucking it into the door out of his way, “Y’know,” he said, “When I was a kid -like grade school- when a guy singled you out for seemingly no reason, it was usually because he  _ liked _ you. But he didn’t know how to deal with it, so he went out of his way to piss you off.”

That didn’t make sense. “Why would you be mean to someone you had an interest in?” Connor turned his head to look at Hank, “That seems grossly counterproductive.”

“I just said it was a thing, kid,” Hank said, checking the road before pulling away from the stand, “I never said it was  _ smart _ . Guess maybe he thinks if he can get  _ you _ to hate  _ him _ he’ll stop liking you? I don’t know. Never put too much thought into it.”

* * *

 

**FEB 14, 2039. 07:13:54**

Connor tossed one of Sumo’s toys, a heavy, pink rubber ball with a thick white rope threaded through it up toward the ceiling. It spun end over end back into his hands, catching it just before it smacked him in the face. He tucked his socked feet under the pillows. Beside him, Sumo rested his chin on the side of the bed, watching the progress of the ball with enraptured attention. Over his head, outside of his field of view, Hank rummaged around in his closet for fresh clothes. The load of laundry Connor had done the previous night still strung up in the bathroom.

“So I talked to Gavin last night,” Connor said, filling the silence. “He was under the impression that you and I were some kind of couple?”

A muffled, “Ha!” Then, clearer, “Catch me twenty years ago and maybe.” A drawer opening and closing, hangers scraping across a bar, the rustle of fabric, “But I am quite enjoying the single life thank you very much. Twelve years of marriage was enough for me.”

Connor tossed the ball hard enough that it touched the ceiling. Sumo’s face lifted to watch it. “So it won’t bother you to hear that he also tried to kiss me last night?”

There was a thunk and some rattling hangers. “Ow- fuck- Connor, what did I tell you about drama before coffee?”

Connor sat up and turned. Hank was half dressed rubbing the back of his head and glaring daggers at the android. “I apologize. It can wait until-”

“Oh no,” Hank wagged his free finger in the air. “It’s dropped now. You gotta deal with the fallout.” With a grunt he pulled his hand from the back of his head and fished out the nearest shirt, throwing it over his shoulders but not bothering to button it. “What happened?”

Connor twisted and adjusted until he was seated upright facing Hank. He gave an overview of what had happened in the garage. A highlights reel of the conversation that preceded the botched kiss; Connor sniping at him, Gavin apologizing. Then, the kiss itself.

“What did you say after?”

“I offered to call him a cab.” Which he’d known at the time wasn’t the best way to handle that, but now that he’d had a few hours to ruminate on it, he realized how badly that might have stung Gavin’s pride. He fully expected the detective to be even more caustic than normal in their interactions for a while. 

Hank laughed. “ _ Savage _ . Damn.” He started to button his shirt. “So, you turned him down, I take it? In no uncertain terms I mean. It’ll be best to squash this thing before it gets crazy.”

Connor shook his head. “I haven’t said anything to that effect yet, no.”

He wasn’t even certain he really wanted to. This was a rare opportunity for him. A chance to see the details of human relationships, form a deeper rapport with someone. To understand the complexities that went into connections like that. 

However, it came with no small amount of risk. Gavin was, by no means, an emotionally stable man. Following that path to its conclusion only to have it not work could backfire on him in a very major way.

“You  _ aren’t _ interested are you?” Hank said and Connor noticed just how much time had ticked by. His tone was wary, the kind he used when still trying to figure out the best course to take.

“I don’t know,” Connor said. He genuinely didn’t. There wasn’t enough information there. He could form any number of arguments. Many of them for the negative, but all of them weakened by Gavin’s behavior in the garage. “His feelings intrigue me,” Connor admitted. “They run so contrary to his usual behavior. Incongruent. Contradictory.”

Hank mumbled, “ _Tsundere_ as fuck is what it is.”

“I want to see where they lead if I can. This could be an opportunity to know Gavin better. To get him to be nicer to me.”

Hank shook his head, “No. That is a terrible idea.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the closet door. “Look, I got no love for Gavin, but I can’t condone you manipulating his crush for personal gain. It’s fucked up. A man’s heart is not some box to be puzzled over.”

Connor reconsidered his viewpoint, but found it unchanging. “If I come to the conclusion that this isn’t a worthwhile pursuit I’ll say something.” He said, trying to sound reassuring, “But I only want to be his friend.”

“Make sure  _ he _ knows that, Connor. And remind yourself often. Last thing you need to do is catch feelings for the guy. He is actual human garbage.”

Connor furrowed his brow, “Emotions aren’t contagious, Hank.”

“Says the guy who caught a virus that made him feel shit.”

Connor rocked back, defensive, “That’s different and you know it.”

“Whatever, kid. How about you take Sumo for his walk while I kick that trash can off my sofa? I’m  _ not _ sharin coffee with him.”

Connor whistled and Sumo hopped up to his feet. They were out the door before Hank finished calling Gavin a cab.

* * *

 

**FEB 19, 2039. 02:22:57**

His meeting with Markus ran late again. Connor was far from surprised. They always did when it was just the two of them and Carl Manfred’s gravestone. They’d start with the usual business, aloof and serious, never committing in case something called one or both of them away. But, given time, they’d list into other subjects; philosophy and existential thinking. They were painfully kindred in those moments, so similar in makeup but divergent in their thinking; Markus nurtured and grown, Connor trained and calibrated. Their talks dragged on so long sometimes Connor walked away feeling uncertain of his very perception of reality. 

When he arrived at home the kitchen light was still on, a pale yellow in between the blinds. The door was locked. Something about this whole situation felt painfully reminiscent of his first trip to Hank Anderson’s house where the lieutenant had still been home. Connor cranked up the sensitivity on his auditory sensor’s microphone. Silence; a dog barking in the distance, a couple talking a house down, nothing from the building in front of him. His car was still here, so he was clearly still home. Maybe he’d left the light on for Connor; it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d forgotten that the android could see just fine in the dark.

He reset the audio sensor and unlocked the door.

Until that moment, Connor had no true frame of reference for how severely deviancy had altered his programming. He knew, logically, based on his observations of others, that the effects had been profound. But there was nothing he could use as a benchmark; nothing he’d experienced as a machine for him to redo as a deviant.

Seeing Hank Anderson blacked out on his kitchen floor was much more alarming the second time. Granted, it had been cause for concern the first time, enough so that Connor had broken in.

But this time it left him frozen in the doorway for several critical seconds while his UI malfunctioned. It gave him error messages in binary and supplied him with his old notes: UNRESOLVED GRIEF. DRINKING PROBLEM. SUICIDAL TENDENCIES.

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR. TERMINAL ERROR

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

PROTOCOL RESET.

Connor scanned the room.

No blood. Hank’s revolver not in line of sight and probably not out of his dresser at all. Sumo asleep in the living room, undisturbed. Whiskey bottle and a picture frame on the table, but not overturned. Chair still upright. 

“Shit.” Connor shut the door with the heel of his foot.

Up close, Hank didn’t look much better. Pale, breathing slower than usual. A closer scan: traces of alcohol (expected), slowed heart rate with a slight arrhythmia (normal). Ethylic coma again. “Hank?” Connor took him by the shoulder and shook him gently. “Hank, hey. Wake up.”

Unresponsive.

INTERNAL STRESS:  59% 61% 64%

A sharp slap to the face had woken him up last time.

Unresponsive.

INTERNAL STRESS 70%

A second hit that would bruise by morning.

INTERNAL STRESS: 68%

Without getting up, Connor reached into the utensil drawer and pulled out one of the sharper knives. A stick to the side of Hank’s palm had blood flowing sluggishly into the creases of his hand. Connor dug his thumbs into the skin beside the cut, encouraging it. He only needed a few drops to test but he wanted to make sure they weren’t overly contaminated by whatever was on Hank’s hand already. He wasn’t fond of running live samples for that very reason. He pressed two fingers to the cut and brought them to his mouth.

ANDERSON, HANK. 53. NO CRIMINAL RECORD.

**> >Run Toxin Screening Assay: Alcohol Content.**

TESTING….

SAMPLE CONTENT: 0.24%

Connor set the knife on the table and sat on his heels. That wasn’t good, but it wasn’t lethal on its own. Not with Hank’s habit. He gave the man another scan anyway, looking for specifics. No changes in pigmentation. Breathing slow but within normal bounds. He reached up and patted the table until he found Hank’s phone and tapped on the flashlight. He shined it into one eye, then the other. Pupils reactive. No signs of fall impact trauma. Medical intervention wasn’t imperative.

Connor turned the flashlight off and shoved the phone into his jacket pocket. He should still get Hank off the floor. Or at least onto his side, just to err on the side of caution. A task that turned out to be much easier when Connor could just lift the man and not have to fight with him or take extra steps to be careful or gentle in his manhandling.

He put Hank down and the bedside closest to the door. Two minutes and he did a security check of the house, making sure the doors were locked, lights were off, and Sumo was tended to. He left the bathroom and bedroom doors open. Then, instead of the couch Connor, without putting any thought into it, toed off his shoes at the door and fell onto Hank’s bed by the window. He settled in, pressed to Hank’s back to keep the man on his side. He stripped his right hand and pressed it to Hank’s chest to monitor for any changes in his breathing or heart rate in the background while he ran other tasks.

Once it he stopped moving and his processes were running on their own, he started getting errors again. Each one on the heels of a what if question. 

This was the second time this had happened. It was worse than last time.

What if he’d been gone all night?

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

What if Hank’s consumption  _ had _ put him in lethal levels?

TERMINAL ERROR.

What if Hank fell back into his Russian Roulette habit again?

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

What if he’d been dead before Connor even got home? And there was nothing he could do about it. No help to call for. No help to be offered.

PROTOCOL RESET FAILED.

Connor pressed his forehead between Hank’s shoulder blades, holding on and trying to ground himself. Something in the back of his head started vibrating at a destabilizing frequency, rattling nearby biocomponents loose, breaking everything around it, shaking wires and tubing all the way down into his torso. It was worse than that spinning that started up sometimes by a considerable margin. He could run processes through the spinning. This shorted out everything, rendered the interface completely unresponsive to his commands. If he had to equate it to something, it felt like watching an imminent shutdown timer tick down through the last thirty seconds or so, trapped in his mind palace UI.

But there was no timer. He wasn’t shutting down. Eventually, the malfunction righted itself, resetting the process that had caused the break in the first place. His internal clock said the whole episode lasted about ten minutes. It left him feeling drained like there was an unattended Thirium leak somewhere. A feedback check told him there wasn’t one.

Connor stayed still, eyes closed, and waited for the rest of his system to reset. He’d need a hard reboot soon, maybe not for updates but for system maintenance. Maybe he’d ask Markus for a place to get Thirium and small parts for reasonable prices without having to go through Cyberlife.

But those were notes for another day.

Now he had other tasks to handle. He brought up reference searches: doctors that took the DPD insurance plan, phone numbers and business hours for those doctors, and reviews of each name. He crossed and organized his lists until he had a top four that seemed the best fit. That morning, at start-of-business, as Connor hauled himself out of bed to let Hank sleep off the rest of his morning alone, he started making phone calls.

It was nearly two in the afternoon before Hank woke up and found him in the kitchen. Connor glanced up at him; the bruise on his face had gotten impressively dark. Hank opened and closed his bloodied left hand in confusion. “What the fuck?” Hank muttered, then looked up at Connor, “When did you get in?”

“Around two thirty.” Connor answered curtly, turning back to the sink as he rinsed out the dog’s water bowl and refilled it. Sumo wedged his nose between Connor’s hip and the counter, supervising.

“I know that tone,” Hank said, coming up next to him and leaning against the counter. “You’re pissed at me.”

“I’m not.”

“Your light’s doing the thing, Connor.” Hank pointed at Connor’s LED to emphasize his point.

Sumo followed Connor as he crossed the kitchen and set the bowl down. “I’m not angry,” he said again as he straightened up. He didn’t want an argument with Hank, not now, but he knew he was going to get one. “I did take the liberty of making you an appointment with a Dr. George Barlowe in a couple weeks though.” It had been easier than Connor had anticipated to accomplish the task with both Hank’s phone number and voice at his disposal.

Hank sighed, running his hands over his face. “I don’t need to see a doctor,” he argued. “I’m the picture of physical health.”

Connor pulled up a bulleted list of points to the contrary, but dismissed them. That wasn’t relevant right now. “Dr. Barlowe’s a therapist.” He said instead.

Hank stared at him and Connor felt static in the air.

“I’m not going to fucking therapist.”

“Why not?” Connor argued, “You could clearly benefit from one. Why deny the help?”

“Connor-” Hank shook his head. “No. I’m not fucking going.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

“Yes, you are.”

Hank reared back at his tone. Connor weighed his options, but couldn’t decide between open hostility or sincerity. “What the fuck,” Hank barked at him, “are you gonna do? Make me go?”

“I might not be able to make you talk to anyone but I can surely put you in the room to do so.” Connor said stubbornly, “I’ll make as many appointments on your behalf as I have to until you eventually go to one.”

“Fuck you, you’re not my mother, Connor.”

“No, but I  _ am _ your friend.” he argued, “And I don’t want to see you like this-”

“That’s-”

“Would-” It was strange, the deviancy in his program allowing him to speak over humans. He was grateful for it now. When his usual tactics weren’t getting anywhere. He had to hit harder. “Would  _ Cole _ want to see you like this? How would your son feel to know you just want to- to be miserable and suffer forever?”

Hank’s face scrunched up in a snarl, “That’s a low fuckin blow, Connor.”

“Yeah, well, I think I earned a few!” It was louder than he intended it and Connor cut his voice off completely to avoid saying more.

“Where the fuck is this coming from?”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

TERMINAL ERROR.

RESETTING PROTOCOL…

The angry crease in Hank’s brow softened into a confusion again.

PROTOCOL RESET FAILED.

“You scared me last night,” Connor admitted, his voice small and quiet when he switched it back on, “For a second I thought you were really dead and I realized that I don’t know what I’m going to do when I lose you. I don’t want to think about losing  _ anyone _ yet. But especially you. It- You don’t have keep going like this. You deserve  _ better _ . Take the help, Hank. Please. If not for you than for Cole’s father. Or for me.”

Hank stared at the floor tiles in silence for almost a full minute. 

“When’s the appointment?”

Connor knew better than to be relieved just yet, “A week from Thursday at two was the earliest I could get. Fowler’s probably going to approve the time off.”

Hank snapped a glare at Connor.

The android shrugged, “You really need stronger passwords.”

Hank sighed.

“You’ll go?”

“I’ll go. But I ain’t making you any promises that this is gonna work. Don’t get your hopes up kid.”

It was a start.

* * *

  
  


**MAY 03, 2039. 22:11:45**

 

They were creatures of routine, both of them. Connor was more rigid about it than Hank was, and that was in no small part due to the fact that he was using those routines to pull Hank out of bad habits and into better ones. Though jogging was still like pulling teeth. But sometimes a break from routine was a good thing, which was why Connor didn’t protest Hank’s suggestion to stop at a place on the way home from work on the condition that it wasn’t the Chicken Feed.

Hank compromised with an equally dubious hole-in-the-wall Thai place about ten minutes out of their way. They got a corner table, Connor people watching, Hank scrolling through his news feed and powering through an irresponsibly larger plate of noodles. It was quiet, easy, clockwork.

And then they got home.

As soon as the door shut behind them after they took Sumo on his last walk of the night together, Hank asked Connor a question, “So are you gonna elaborate on what happened today or are you keeping secrets from me now?”

“I stole a case from Reed, there’s nothing else to explain.”

“Connor, I let you live in my home rent-free. The least you could do is have a little goddamn respect for me.” Hank folded his arms across his chest.

Connor deflected the look by crouching down to unhook Sumo’s collar and petting him.

“A man that hates me,” Hank pressed, “blows up my phone to ask me about something _ you  _ did behind my back. You go out in the garage to stop him from making a scene in the office. You don’t think I can put together that something shady’s goin’ on there?”

Connor tried to find the pieces for a plausible lie but nothing fit together in a way that resembled the truth enough to be truly believable. He stopped trying. Better to build on what was already out there. It was likely that Hank had followed Connor out into the garage sooner than when he’d shown his face and eavesdropped. “How much did you hear?”

“By the time I found you guys, you were shouting at each other.” Hank said. “Then somethin’ about dead kids? What the fuck is  _ that _ shit about?”

INTERNAL STRESS: 54%

Connor stood. “I can explain, but please. I want your word that you won’t tell Gavin I told you about any of this. The only reason we’re on decent terms right now is because he thinks he has my silence.”

“The dumbass should have known better than to have had that conversation on public property surrounded by people whose job it is to be fuckin’ nosy.”

“Hank, please.”

Hank held up his hands, “Alright, alright. He won’t hear a word from me. Now,  _ explain. _ ”

And Connor did. Albeit in the broadest and most vague strokes he could get away with.

* * *

  
  


**MAY 31, 2039. 13:01:32**

“You were gone a while.”

“I wanted to make sure Gavin got settled in without hurting himself. I also said hello to his cat.”

“That better not be innuendo for something.”

“Innuendo for  _ what? _ ”

“Hah. Nothin’. Nevermind. “A pause, “You sure you’re okay?”

“I don’t remember most of it. I’ll be alright.”

“I worry about ya sometimes, Connor.”

“I know, Hank. I appreciate it.”

* * *

  
  


**JUL 09, 2039. 15:27:19**

Connor didn’t look up when the door opened and Hank came in. Sumo, however, twisted and wriggled in his grip, tail wagging, much more excited to get up and say hello to Hank than he was about getting a thorough brushing down. Connor held on, not letting him get too far. He hadn’t spent the entire afternoon thus far scrubbing him down just to stop now.

“I see you took my advice,” Hank said by way of greeting, “when it came to the clothing situation. Would have been a shame to have to get you a new suit so soon.”

Sumo tugged and Connor slid, the sheet below his bare knees offering no friction between himself and the floor. “Sumo, no. Stop-” But the dog had popped out of his collar, shook a hail of loose, damp fur onto Connor and trotted over to Hank.

“Warned ya,” Hank laughed, “Bath day’s a two man job.” He took the dog’s face in his hands and ruffled him. “Isn’t that right boy?”

“ _ Woof!” _

“I got most of it done,” Connor argued in his own defense. “I can brush him later.”  He stood, swiping hair off his skin as best he could, but it clung stubbornly to the static the synth skin produced. He’d have to drop it and actually wash to have any hope. “How’d it go?”

“How’d what go?”

For the briefest of seconds, Connor very seriously considered throwing the wire brush still in his right hand at Hank’s head. Did he not go? Had he forgotten? No that wasn’t possible. Connor had reminded him this morning. He  _ knew _ but-”

“Wow I didn’t think you’d actually blow a fuse, Con. Settle down” He laughed, holding up his hands defensively. “It went fine, I guess.” 

“Just fine?” Connor furrowed his brow.

“It was just a new patient interview. I’m not gonna know until I go back.” Hank shrugged. “But, I think I like this one.”

That got a smile out of Connor. “That’s great to hear.”

 

* * *

 

**AUG 21. 2039, 19:43:00**

“Connor! What the fuck did you do to my fridge?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Hank.”

“The whole bottom shelf is empty! What’d you do with my beer?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Connor…”

“Maybe it’s a sign. Even rA9 wants you to slow down.”

“Connor, I swear to fucking God I will put you on the curb.”

 

* * *

**SEP 04, 2039. 11:34:45**

They stopped at a corner deli for once. A good change of pace thanks to Gavin’s recommendation a few weeks prior. He seemed to know a little about every food place in the city. When Connor had asked him for places to convince Hank to check out instead of his usual haunts, Gavin had supplied a sizeable list, Connor had to get him to narrow down with various parameters.

When asked how he’d acquired his list, Gavin had just brushed it off, “I was a foodie in college.”

Hank and Connor took up a table near the front window. All the more private booths were occupied by the lunch crowd already. The spot was close enough to the counter that Connor could hear Hank hunt down and order the single most unhealthy thing the menu had to offer just to spite the android’s criticisms of his diet. But, in the end, it was better for him than his usual fare, so Connor called it a win.

“I need some advice,” Connor said once they’d settled in.

“Sure, kid. Shoot.”

“I think I may have lost control of this whole Gavin situation,” Connor confessed.

“Oh, there’s a  _ situation _ with Gavin now? What did I tell you about dragging this on?” Hank scolded. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

Connor wrung his hands together. It wasn’t as effective as a recalibration, but it would stall out his stress meter for a time.

“What do you mean lost control?”  Hank prompted.

“I had originally thought,” he explained, “that I could use this as an opportunity to get to know him better. Observe and maybe establish a rapport. Make him hate me less. But now I-” He put his hands on the table. “I don’t know what I’m trying to do anymore.”

“Sounds to me like you caught some feelings.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR.

“I guess you could call it that.”

Hank chewed thoughtfully. “What happened, exactly?”

Connor considered what might be the best place to start in his explanation. His stress meter started ticking up again. He pulled his quarter out of his jacket pocket and started rolling it over his knuckles. “Gavin and I take our breaks together on nights. Usually he leaves to get coffee and we gossip or say terrible things about CyberLife. Nothing of consequence.”

That got an interested look from Hank, but he didn’t say anything.

“Last night, in the garage, he asked me about Markus and North. The contact memory sharing androids do.” He flicked the quarter into his left hand, “About how androids register feeling. I guess I wasn’t understanding the nature of his last question so he-, “ Connor lifted his right hand to his cheek where Gavin’s had rested for that conversation, “ put his hand on my face and asked me what it felt like. And I got… I got bunch of lines that weren’t part of my program.”

Hank took a few bites in silence, everything Connor said sinking in.

Connor ran through a full recalibration set in that silence.

“What was it?” Hank asked suddenly, mid-bite, “That bit that wasn’t in your program. Was it like an error or something?”

Connor tipped the spinning coin off his fingertip and into his palm. He squeezed it. “I don’t know. It isn’t something was programmed to process. It was an emotion not part of my response protocol.”

“An emotion? What kind? Positive? Negative?”

Connor thought about it. “Neutral.”

“Describe it then.”

“How?”

Hank looked at him blankly, “With  _ words _ , presumably,” he deadpanned. Then, after a beat, understanding tipped his brow up. “Equivocate,” he explained, “Like humans do. Try to find something else that’s triggered it or is comparable.”

“It’s… It’s like…” Connor started and stopped a few more times. “I don’t know! I can’t say I’ve ever gotten this one before.”

“Then approximate! You gotta give me something to work with here, Connor. I don’t fuckin know.”

Connor sat back and closed his eyes.

**> >Replay Memory: 08/19/2039 | 01:35:00**

He ran through the sequence until he hit the errant line.

_ “Yeah… yes I can.” _

_ And Gavin watched him, visibly reacting to Connor’s answer. He took a sudden breath through his nose, relaxed his clenching jaw, his hand pressed in harder. Like he didn’t believe that answer. Like he had to be sure. _

**> > Stop Playback.**

It had felt to him like an unexpected error reading; baseless, sudden, alarming. The kind of thing that could sit at the bottom of a processes list, unattended to, without tangible consequences, but loudly demanded to be known. He consulted his list of deviant-from-program emotional lines he’d started keeping records of after he met Markus and found one that was sort of close. Close enough for this anyway.

“It’s like,” Connor said out loud, “When you look out over the city from a high rooftop. Or the bridge. To see something so large appear… so small. To be so far away that you aren’t significant to it anymore.” He closed out of everything he’d used to reach that conclusion and opened his eyes. “Does that make sense?”

“Yeah it does.”

That was a relief. “What does it mean?”

Hank didn’t hesitate for a second, “I think it means you’re  _ fucked _ , kid.”

SOFTWARE STABILITY ERROR

Connor tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. “I was worried you would say that.”

“Gavin though?” Hank hissed, sounding thoroughly scandalized, “Of  _ all _ people, it had to be that emotionally constipated dumpster fire?”

“This is all extremely unhelpful, Hank, thank you.”

“Just, damn. You can do better. You’re cute. You’ve got a stable job. You’ve got a dog.”

“Sumo’s _your_ dog.”

“You’ve stripped down to shorts and tried to scrub him, that makes him your dog too.” Hank countered. “Fuck,” he laughed, “Guess CyberLife doesn’t program for taste.”

Connor lifted his head back up and stared Hank down from across the table, “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Okay, okay,” Hank held up his hands defensively. “Look, as far as I can see, you’ve got a couple options. You  _ can’t _ just let it be forever. That way lies madness.”

Connor agreed with him there.

“So, you can come back to days only. Learn to swallow it and avoid Gavin until it passes.”

Connor tilted his head. “Would it really stop? Or would I just not trigger it anymore?”

“Don’t know. Works for humans sometimes. The whole distance-makes-the-heart-grow-fonder shit’s a crock. You put enough distance, the heart’ll find something else to be fond of.”

“And my other option?”

“Be mature. Let him know how you feel, maybe pursue it if he’s game. Talk to him about it at least and try to be responsible adults.” After a second he added. “There’s also the Gavin option of just picking a fight with him. But I wouldn’t recommend that. Ever.”

Connor weighed both options. Avoidance was easier, but came with the greater risk. Gavin would notice the change and force a confrontation where Connor would have to admit to his failings anyway or lie about them. If he pursued  _ anything _ could happen; rejection, incompatibility, explosive arguments. Sure, Gavin had been slowly warming up to him, but he was still chaotic by nature. A blow in the wrong place could prove disastrous.

“How would I go about doing that? Telling him, I mean, not picking a fight.”

Hank sucked his teeth, thinking. “It’s different for everyone. Some just come right out and say it. Some prefer gestures. You gotta tailor it to the person you’re talking to.”

Direct conversation was out. Confronting one’s feelings head on was like insect repellent specifically designed for Gavin Reed.

“What manner of gesture?”

“Hell if I know. Aren’t you the one hooked up to the internet? Check out some rom-coms or something.” After a moment Hank added, “When I started out with my ex-wife, I’d asked her in a birthday card in a  --heh- a really stupid way. ‘I couldn’t afford a gift,’ I think I wrote, ‘will you take a boyfriend instead?’” He cringed, “She’d thought was charming. Still had the card when we got married.

“As for what you can throw at Gavin, though, I haven’t the faintest fuckin’ idea. You’re on your own there.”

“I’ll think about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to do at least one chapter dedicated to Hank and Connor's relationship.  
> I mean... It's Connor's emotional backbone. And this is a Connor study so  
> Yeah.
> 
> [God there are so many scenes in this thing what was I thinking?]


	8. Epilogue

**OCT 07, 2039. 19:55:12**

 

“Wow, this place looks really different when you’re sober.” Hank said as they walked up the sidewalk toward Gavin’s building. His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the rain as he looked up at the buildings.

“Just try not to get drunk and pick a fight with him,” Connor teased, adjusting his grip on the case of beer in his hands when the wet cardboard threatened to buckle. “Your invitation is tenuous enough as it is. He still sort of hates you, no matter what I say to him.”

Hank looked at him, skeptical expression clearer now that he’d started tying his hair back and out of his face. “Did you manipulate this man’s crush to get me an invitation so I could score free food?”

Connor kept his eyes ahead, but his mouth curled in a smirk, “Manipulate is a strong word, lieutenant.”

Hank snorted, “Sure.” They slowed down at Gavin’s building, the light on the second floor on and casting a yellow glow through the blinds. “So, did you ever get him anything? I know you were thinkin’ about it.”

“I have an idea.”

Hank looked him over, “You better not be co-opting that beer. Shit wasn’t cheap. Even if you did pick it out.”

“It’s not a gift,” Connor countered, “It was a condition of your invitation. Gavin  _ explicitly _ said that you had to bring drinks and it couldn’t be, quote,” he simulated Gavin’s voice, “that deer piss he usually drinks,” back to his own, “unquote. Or he’d kick us both out.”

“Fuckin snob,” Hank muttered.

At the stairs a young woman (COHN, MARGARET. 29. OUTSTANDING SPEEDING TICKET)  holding a large pink and white box in her left hand and was digging through her jacket with her right. After a second, she pulled out a ring of keys out of her left pocket with a triumphant little noise. She blinked, startled, when she noticed them. She was slight, average height. Her dark, wavy hair was brushed out of her face, a gaudy scarf draped around her neck.

“You look familiar,” Hank said when they got close, pointing at her, “Gavin’s little sister! Mary?”

“Maggie,” she corrected, putting the ring of keys between her teeth so she could shake Hank’s hand. “Yer-” she dropped the keys back into her hand, “You’re Anderson right? First name That-Asshole-Lieutenant?”

“Hank,” he laughed, “But I do answer to both.”

She turned, “That must make you… Connor? Right?”

Connor hesitated in surprise. “Gavin’s told you about me?”

Maggie smiled brightly and said, “No!”

There was a long, confused and awkward pause. Then, suddenly, Hank and Maggie started snickering and talking over each other.

Hank: “Oh, you got the fun genes in this family.”

Maggie: “I’m sorry. No, he does talk about you sometimes.”

“Wait, he does?” Connor interrupted, getting both of their attention. He tried to ignore the smug look Hank was aiming at him.

Maggie nodded, “Oh yeah. You’re dog droid, right?” She snorted at Connor’s continued puzzlement, “You send him pictures of dogs sometimes.”

Hank’s smug look turned judgmental.

“We’re also coworkers,” Connor said.

“And you dislocated his shoulder, but all that’s less funny.”

They took the stairs, Hank leading the way, Maggie in the middle. Connor tried to ask her hat was in the box, but only got a stern look and a “None of your damn business” for the effort.

Inside, the atmosphere was sedate and friendly. Maggie went right up and hugged Gavin like he wasn’t an aggressively and prickly man by nature. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and he returned it. All warmth and contact and flagrant humanity, much like his visit with Tiffany Kane and her daughter.

Connor spent a great deal of his night just observing. It was, he realized, surprisingly rare for him to watch a human gathering that wasn’t for work or shrouded in strife and hardship up close. They gathered around Gavin’s tiny wooden dining table with mismatched chairs for dinner. Maggie took the role of host from Gavin almost immediately, usurping him in charisma and charm. 

She told stories about teenage-Gavin babysitting small-child-Maggie. Gavin occasionally interrupted to correct or argue with her. Hank interjected when things got heated with stories about Cole or his own siblings. Maggie’s tales included: one stray cat that would grow up to be Tobias in their bathroom sink (Gavin’s fault), an upturned potted plant being used to build ‘sand castles’ but ultimately turned the den carpet a “nicer shade of brown” (Maggie’s fault), and one harrowing misadventure to a 7-11 for slushies that ended in them both riding home in the back of a police cruiser (they blamed each other.) The resulting argument over who got into more trouble ended when Gavin broke out his poker set and proposed the first game of Rat Screw for the night.

Connor should have known he was in trouble when Maggie cracked her knuckles and took off her wedding ring.

They moved to the living room after Maggie’s finger was splinted. She was a good sport about the whole thing, but Connor could not stop himself from apologizing until she started insulting him for being too worrisome. Connor set himself on the floor. Tobias curled in his lap. The humans spread themselves across Gavin’s couch, Hank at one arm, Maggie at the other, a cushion between them, and Gavin on the arm next to his sister and periodically getting up to refresh drinks.

As they talked amongst themselves Connor picked out and filed away their topics of conversation, their anecdotes, little facts about them. He only gave opinions or comments when prompted. He opted for the safest answers. They didn’t ask dangerous questions. It was comfortable.

Every time Gavin got up, Connor noticed, Maggie would watch him intently. It was strange the first few times, until Gavin disappeared down the hall. As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut Maggie dove for Gavin’s phone, left out on the edge of the coffee table with enough vigor Tobias startled awake. She tapped at the screen with her thumbs. “Ha!” she held up her fist triumphantly, “He didn’t change it. Let’s see…”

Connor turned to Hank for a clue about whether or not to stop her from going through Gavin’s personal devices. But Hank just leaned back, crossing his legs, and watched.

“Aw fuck. He deleted the good shit.” She grumbled, pouting. “I really wanted to get him a date with a juggalo like I did last year. Asshole.”

“Juggalos are still a thing?” Hank snorted.

“You bet your sweet ass they are.” She clicked her tongue. “Huh. He left his music app open. Let’s see what kind of bullshit he’s been listening to.” She tapped the screen with a little flourish, her thumb hastily ticking up up the volume to max.

A steady snare drumbeat filled the air from the phone’s meager speakers. A melodic twang. After a moment a resonant male voice sang out:

“ _ Put down the knife… _ ”

Connor saw an opportunity and took it when he realized that, despite having known Gavin Reed for nearly a year, he had no idea what his taste in music was.

**> >Run Audio Match**

“ _ The night is here. And still is spinning out stars in its wake. And that stubborn light. Pools in your heart. Warm and nacreous, baby…” _

MATCH FOUND.

“ _ The milk of sighs…” _

SONG:  _ Backchannels _ | ARTIST: Shearwater | ALBUM: Jet Plane and Oxbow (2016) | GENRE: Indie Rock

**> > Download audio**

DOWNLOADING…

DOWNLOAD COMPLETE.

Gavin rejoined them, scowling. “The fuck, Mags.”

“You deleted all your dating apps,” Maggie said, disappointed. She paused the music before the track could change.

“Yeah,” Gavin said stiffly, taking his phone back. “I’m not really in the market anymore.”

Maggie looked at him curiously, but shrugged it off. 

The conversation turned to music after that, spurred by questions about taste and the superiority of older things. Hank took over for a time, talking about his father’s stint as a jazz musician and the vinyls he’d inherited. Maggie chimed in with a story about her first job as a music teacher.

Gavin took that opportunity to steal off into the kitchen and cut the cake. Connor followed him, not wanting to get roped into a conversation about tastes when he really hadn’t developed any.

Shortly after, it grew late enough that everyone had no choice but to leave since Gavin wasn’t going to let them stay there. He did see them out, with Tobias purring next to his head and the most sincere smile Connor had ever seen on him. His shoulders relaxed, his body language open. As they left he lingered in the doorway, watching them.

Connor took the stairs a bit more slowly, multitasking.

**> >Preconstruct scenario.**

_ He turns around. Hank and Maggie aren’t looking. He heads back up the stairs to catch Gavin before he shuts the door… _

OTHERS WOULD NOTICE AND FOLLOW. REQUIRES DISCRETION

**> > Reject.**

_ He reaches the bottom with them. Pretends to have forgotten something. Then goes back up. Either catches Gavin before he’s shut the door or immediately after. Knocks if he has to. Gets him alone. Goes- _

HE WOULD SLAM THE DOOR. REQUIRES LEAD-UP

**> >Restart**

_ Bottom of the stairs. Feigns forgetting. Back up…. _

_ Improvises? _

PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 65%

**> >End Preconstruction.**

Connor didn’t like the idea of having to improvise. It defeated the purpose of planning in the first place. But with a man as volatile and prone to change as Gavin, Connor had little choice. He knew, however, that this was his best opportunity to pursue this line of action. That he might  _ never _ catch Gavin in better more receptive spirits again. If he was going to do this, it had to be now.

**> >Execute Preconstruction.**

He stopped at the foot of the stairs. Hank noticed almost immediately. “One second,” Connor said, sheepish, when Hank turned to him. He pointed over his shoulder.

“Goddamn it, Connor.” Hank sighed, but continued toward the sidewalk with Maggie.

Connor jogged back up the stairs and Gavin was still there, leaning against the door. “Turn around, Ava.” He chided, “Whatever you left here is mine now. Them’s the breaks.” Gavin held up a finger and spun it in a lazy circle.

“Actually,” Connor slowed to a stop. “I realized I’d forgotten to give you your gift.” Gavin blinked at him in surprise, his shoulders tensed. “Such things are customary,” Connor teased, “even if the recipient is a huge jerk.”

The ribbing relaxed him. His smile twisted into a wicked little smirk. “Alright, fine. What is it?”

If Gavin could do this while drunk and hostile, Connor could do it now. He inched into Gavin’s space and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Or tried to, but Gavin turned an unanticipated few degrees toward him and Connor missed his mark by a few inches.

A proper kiss, he learned, was a strange experience. One that demanded a sight cut-off prior to instead of during. He registered pressure and contact and warmth, firm and insistent. And then there was warm, against the plates of his cheeks; slight pressure to guide his head to one side. An abrasion alert as teeth marred the softer, flexible part of Connor’s lower lip.

Connor considered the consequence. The sterilization cycle had finished a while ago. It seemed to all be dry. It would taste awful, but surely Gavin knew already. He’d known how Connor tested samples for months. Logic followed that there would be a way to sterilize things between uses. His curiosity got the better of him then, and he parted his teeth. Just to see what would happen.

Gavin’s tongue hit his for all of half of a second. Everything in Connor’s mouth went  _ haywire. _ He was overwhelmed with alerts. New samples; the cake, coffee, dinner, everything that had passed across Gavin’s tongue that night right down to his mouthwash. It was thrilling in its way, a flight response triggered by overload but without the stress to reset it.

But then it reset on its own.

Gavin pulled back with a cough and a gag, struggling as the cleanser ran amok in his mouth. He doubled over spitting and swearing.

Connor recovered first. “Gavin, I-”

“For fucks-” His voice became unintelligible as water filled his mouth. He spit to clear it. “Why do you taste like floor polish?”

Oh. He  _ didn’t _ know. “My analytics system,” Connor explained, regretting not warning him about it now. “It has to sterilize its components after every use. With a 0.5% hypochlorite solution.”

Gavin, predictably, responded with rage. Though he was a little pinker in the face than expected. “Get out! Get the hell out.” He shouted more things but it was barely intelligible to Connor.

“I thought you knew-”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have ended up with fucking bleach in my mouth!” Gavin waved him away, spitting another mouthful of water onto the floor so his “ _ Fuck off!” _ could ring clearly.

Connor couldn’t help but laugh at his misery and the absurdity of the whole situation. He let Gavin be, trotting back downstairs to meet Hank at the turn in the sidewalk. He was glaring at Connor as the android approached and called out, “What did you do now?” It was in the same tone he used when Sumo got himself into trouble.

“Nothing,” Connor said innocently, “Gavin miscalculated. That’s hardly my fault.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, “Is this gonna turn into something?”

Connor fell into step beside him and they walked back to the car. “I don’t know. Anything is possible.”

Hank sighed, “Okay. Am I gonna end up with salt in my coffee? That’s what I’m really asking here.”

“No. If Gavin’s going to do anything about this,” Connor reassured him, “Positive or negative, it’ll be directed at me.”

Hank shook his head, but didn’t press further as they drove home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Connor had a song featured twice in Gavin's story, I figured it was only fair for Gavin to get one in Connor's. Yes, the song is real.
> 
>  
> 
> [ You can listen to it here ](https://shearwater.bandcamp.com/track/backchannels)
> 
>  
> 
> And that's it  
> That's the end of this one
> 
> **UPDATE: There is a Part Three currently in the works, it's about halfway done as of 8/24. I do not know when it will be ready to post, keep your eyes peeled**
> 
> If you wanna keep track of what projects I'm plucking away at feel free to hmu on [ tumblr ](http://squirrellythief.tumblr.com) or [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/SquirrellyThief) gonna be taking a break for a few days but I'll respond to stuff when I get back I swear.


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